


The Pandorica Closes

by Nicor_Fyrweorm



Series: Last of the Time Lords [13]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alien Time Lords (Doctor Who), Canon Temporary Character Death, Canonical Character Death, Character Death Fix, Cliffhangers, Episode: s05e12 The Pandorica Opens, Gen, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Not Really Character Death, Series Finale, Temporary Character Death, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Doctor (Doctor Who) Needs Help, The Doctor (Doctor Who) is an Idiot, The Master (Doctor Who) is an Idiot, The Master Gets His Hug, The Pandorica
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28337265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicor_Fyrweorm/pseuds/Nicor_Fyrweorm
Summary: River wanted to deliver her message. Rory wanted to help the Doctor fix the cracks. Amy wanted to go back to her boys.The Master wanted to get the Doctor back - and the Doctor wanted to stop the Pandorica from opening.Or the one where the gang gets back together, truths are revealed, events long set in motion finally come to happen, and the universe dies.
Relationships: Amy Pond & Rory Williams, Amy Pond/Rory Williams, River Song & Rory Williams, The Doctor & The Master (Doctor Who), The Master & Amy Pond (Doctor Who), The Master & River Song, The Master & Rory Williams
Series: Last of the Time Lords [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1511825
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	The Pandorica Closes

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays to anyone who celebrates anything these days! And to those who don't: Have a good week!
> 
> Here's my (late) Christmas present to you all, cliffhanger included: The longest installment of _Last of the Time Lords_ to date. Enjoy!
> 
> Also, it's the 'lucky' thirteenth episode of the _Last of the Time Lords_ series. Hm. I'm _sure_ it doesn't mean anything and everything is totally _fine..._ I mean, look at the title. What could go wrong?
> 
> The soundtrack for this episode is, in order: _Amy's Starless Life, The Pandorica, Words Win Wars,_ and _The Sad Man With a Box._ You'll know when you get to it, don't worry. We also have a mystery song further on, but _that one_ doesn't need an introduction, it's fine.

Rory doesn't even need to open his eyes when he wakes up, smiling with a sigh. He knows these sheets, the comfy queen-sized mattress under him, the almost inaudible humming that is so alien and yet so alike his mother preparing breakfast down in the kitchen, and the smell that is, well… 

It just smells like _TARDIS._

When he finally does open his eyes and stretch, turning on the lights – which light up _gradually,_ not hurting his eyes, and someone should _really_ put that in every 21st century home – he sees that today his walls are a vivid yet comforting orange-red and wave-patterned, with curls of gold interwoven in it. 

He thinks of long red hair waving in the wind, and then yawns and finally gets up. 

He takes care of his morning routine in the adjoining bathroom and gets dressed – and stops. The blue _Keep Calm_ shirt hanging from his dresser jumps out at him, and he takes it out with a small frown. It still has the tag hanging off of it. 

“But I could've sworn…” Rory whispers to himself, and after cutting the tag off, he leaves his room with a destination in mind. 

After the spacewalk, they returned everyone to the park and fixed the loose ends. A doubloon for David Bowie, so he could buy a new TV before his roommate came back, to replace the one Rory broke with the sonic screwdriver. The Doctor fixed the Colonel's car in five minutes, and the delay was because he had to go back to the TARDIS to fetch a couple pieces. A quick scan of Earth to try to figure out if whatever creature or creatures had been behind the killings at _Janice's_ were still around, and when they confirmed that the signature didn't pop up again in 1969, they tried to trace it to its origins – but the TARDIS threw 'a tantrum' and refused to cooperate. The Doctor shrugged the whole thing off, and Rory decided to let it slide as well. Like he'd said, the Doctor would probably fix it in the future, or his past, so he smiled and let it go. 

David had been quiet, shocked after their experience, but he'd still smiled and shaken Rory's hands as they said goodbye. The Colonel had thanked him for his help, and when Rory had pointed out he hadn't done much, the Colonel had answered that he had done more than he thought. 

Rory had smiled awkwardly, flustered, and shaken his hand as well. And when the Colonel had lowered his voice to tell him _I'm going to find that unit of yours,_ Rory had tried not to wince. 

Oops. 

But hey, the Doctor and UNIT had history together, so helping create UNIT was a good thing, right? 

Right. 

No, Rory had been grateful and happy and proud and embarrassed, but most of all, he'd been _worried._ The Doctor had hovered over Rory ever since coming back, yet he kept himself separate, almost _skittish,_ at the same time. 

What had happened to him during that day and two nights he'd spent alone? And his reaction to Rory's words, that hug… 

Rory hadn't wanted to press the issue, not with everyone around and with both of them obviously too tired for a serious conversation, but they need to have it. And now's the time. 

Also, Rory could've sworn he'd seen the Doctor outside the station, wearing Rory's _Keep Calm and Run for Your Life_ shirt, but when he'd stepped out of the TARDIS, he'd still been wearing his 1847 clothes. 

He'd probably imagined it all, but he thinks he should tell him, just in case. Maybe it's like in Cardiff, when the Doctor had had to call the Hub twelve hours before they went back to the TARDIS to tell them they _had_ to wait twelve hours before they went to the TARDIS. 

… Or something. 

The point is, if the Doctor needs to pop back to the past to give Rory doubts about his mental health, he needs to know about the event so he can _do it._

Thus, Rory gets out of his room with his shirt in hand and a destination in mind. 

… A destination that is immediately changed as soon as he steps into the corridor. He doesn't know where his room is today, though that door looks a lot like the library's, but the thing that stops him short is the music. 

Music, in the TARDIS? And not radio music, oh no. Rory could've expected to hear David Bowie, after their latest encounter – the Doctor took well to being called Starman, despite the implications – but what's playing now is orchestral. 

Rory recognizes flutes playing a beautiful melody, accompanied by some kind of string instruments – harps? – and with some tingling that turns the piece almost _haunting_ despite its beauty. And then it fades to its end and the sound stops. 

“Doctor? I mean – Starman?” Rory calls, making his way to where the music came from, and stopping as yet another song fills the corridor. 

This time it's also wind picking up the main melody, but there's a bass and a repeating group of violin notes that make Rory tense, as if he's about to walk into trouble. 

As the one before, it barely lasts a couple minutes, and Rory is left as lost as before. 

What is the Doctor playing at? Or is it the TARDIS? 

The next song is more… _epic,_ Rory would say, for lack of words, with the wind picking up the weight and the strings in the background, but it's also _sad,_ making Rory think of a mighty warrior on his knees, fighting to get up again – or something equally amazing that one would see in a movie. It's followed by a more _look at this awesome character_ part, with the melody becoming smoother and… are the violins in the background playing the same pattern from the previous song? 

Before Rory can decipher it, the song picks up again, trumpets chorusing and the tension growing with each pause as the song builds to its end. 

This time, though, Rory catches something else when the music stops. 

“No, _no!_ This doesn't work either!” 

Ah, the dulcet tones of the Doctor when he's exasperated. Rory probably shouldn't be as familiar with that tone as he is, but he grins and finally locates the ajar door where all the ruckus is coming from. 

And then, he stops and lets out a soft _whoa._

The TARDIS, by virtue of being _the TARDIS,_ is impressive, but she still manages to surprise Rory every now and then. This time, it's with a room that seems to be made of crystal hexagons glowing with blue light, and seven pillars of orange crystal, also glowing. Six of them are curving towards the central one, which has something that looks a lot like the console of the control room attached to it. However, this 'console' is only a semicircle, and instead of any buttons or levers, it has a lot of lines on it that make Rory think of a microchip. 

The Doctor is standing in front of it, one hand on his hip while the other rubs his forehead as if to get rid of a headache. He's wearing jeans, dark mid-calf boots, and a plain burgundy sweater. The mid-thigh black coat with a paler underside that's hanging on the out-of-place coat rack by the door, though, makes Rory pause. 

That's almost the same ensemble he saw him in, back at the station. So, that's what must have happened. Rory needs to lend the Doctor his t-shirt, and they need to make a stop in 1969. Easy. 

“Come on, think think _think!_ It can't be that hard,” the Doctor grumbles under his breath as he drops his hand and lifts his head, and Rory can practically _see_ the glare he's drilling into the console. 

“Need a hand?” he asks as he steps into the room, and the Doctor jumps like a startled cat, turning with wide eyes that immediately morph into a glare. 

“Rory! Haven't you learnt to knock?” 

“The door wasn't closed,” Rory answers, pointing at it over his shoulder, and the Doctor immediately shifts his glare from the human to the walls. 

The TARDIS hums unbothered. Rory grins, and the Doctor drops his shoulders with a sigh. 

“Right, why not. Did you sleep well?” the Doctor asks at last, once more turning to Rory, who blinks in surprise. 

“Yes, actually. You?” 

“Didn't sleep. Though I cooked a small feast and ate about 76% of it. There should be enough for your breakfast, lunch and dinner, if you want some. It's in the second kitchen,” he answers with a shrug, and Rory has to frown for a moment as he tries to remember which kitchen is the second one. “The one that looks like something out of the sixties.” 

“Oh, thanks! Wait, did you read my mind?” Rory asks suspiciously, but the Doctor's answering grin is too smug to be a yes. “It was all over my face, wasn't it,” he deadpans, and, again, the minute shift of the Doctor's grin from smug to mocking is answer enough. “Right, of course. Thanks for breakfast. And the rest. I'll grab some later. What were you doing? What kind of instrument is that?” he asks, hoping a change of topic will stop the Doctor from teasing him too badly. 

When the alien frowns in confusion, Rory relaxes. Okay, teasing avoided. 

“Instrument? What, this? It's a chronocartographer, it maps out timelines,” he explains as he gestures to the room in general, and Rory approaches with curiosity. 

“Really? It sounded like there was an orchestra playing. I thought that was you,” he answers, looking over the lines for any buttons or switches or even a screen, but finds nothing. 

“Is that how it sounds like to you? Huh. Glad it's not shrieking,” the Doctor muses with a blink, turning to the console too. “It isn't something a tridimensional being could understand, but it's always hard to predict how you could _comprehend_ it.” 

“How so?” 

“What did you see when you looked at the Neverwere?” the Doctor asks, turning to Rory, who stops for a moment and frowns as he thinks back to Cardiff. 

“It was like… Like if darkness was melting into the world. Like mist covering stuff, but… _oily._ There but not. Like black spots in your sight when you're dizzy. Like – I don't know. What did it look like to you? What does a Neverwere look like?” he asks as he grasps at straws, trying and failing to find words to describe the faint and flickering image in his brain. 

The Doctor gives him a humorless grin. 

“That's the thing. The words I would use to describe a Neverwere don't have a translation in any language of the universe spoken by a tridimensional species. They're in Gallifreyan—” 

“And Gallifreyan doesn't translate,” Rory finishes with realization, and the Doctor nods. “So, I hear music when you use this chrono… something. What do _you_ hear? What are you using it for?” 

“Chronocartographer. It's used for chronocartography, chronal cartography, or the mapping of timelines. Time Lords can see time, all that is, was, will be, could be, could have been, and many other tenses you can't even comprehend. But just like any road system, knowing the layout doesn't mean you know every single curve of every single road. So, just like you would take a country map to plan a road trip, Time Lords need temporal maps to navigate timelines, and that means we have to draw them. And just like any regular map, you need some references. For temporal maps, the best one is the latent temporal energy of the objects whose timelines intersect the point you're trying to reach. This machine, the chronocartographer, allows me to tap into that latent energy, and then I can trace it down its many paths to reach the event I'm looking for. We don't really need it most of the time, Time is as easy to navigate for a learned Time Lord as the British main road system would be for you, but when we're looking for something _very specific…_ Well, _then_ we need a map,” he explains as simply as he can, for which Rory is grateful. 

He knows what an effort it is to simplify something that is practically second nature in someone's everyday life, like Rory has had to do when discussing his job with his friends outside the medical field, or his Dad's babblings about electricity that sound almost like Chinese to Rory. The Doctor does the same for him, and for others they encounter, but he seems to have grown used to a certain amount of simplicity, owing to being around 'tridimensional beings' for so long. 

Regardless of the reason, Rory is grateful. 'Time map' is an easy enough concept to understand. 

“So, what are you looking for?” he asks once he's done processing the information he's been given, and the Doctor frowns, glaring at the controls but also at something Rory can't see. 

“I'm looking for the moment the cracks are fixed and I can bring everyone back. The problem is, it's _hard_ to read a Time Lord's timeline, especially when it's my own, and I'm getting _nowhere,”_ he hisses, and Rory can't help but wince in sympathy. 

“What about doing it the old-fashioned way? You know, going after the cracks and collecting information, like we've been doing?” he suggests, and the Doctor tenses and spares him a _very_ quick look. “What? It's working, isn't it? Sure, there wasn't a crack in 1969, but – Oh. Wait a second. Is _that_ why you're doing this now? Because I fell out of the TARDIS?” he asks, disbelieving, but the Doctor's scoff and the way his shoulders hunch up are more than answer enough. “Come on! I didn't get in trouble, and it was _an accident._ And we make a good team, you and I, right? With Semmelweis and the Fever, that was teamwork! We can deal with whatever we find!” 

“No, _I_ can deal with whatever we find, _you_ cannot! You're human, Rory, you're _way_ more fragile than a Time Lord. And I'm not losing you just because I made a mistake!” the Doctor argues back, snarling at Rory, but this time there is none of the madness in his dark gold eyes. 

This time, Rory sees pain, desperation and _fear._

“How long did you spend alone?” he asks instead of retorting, paying attention to the way the Doctor stiffens and hides his emotions behind wariness. 

“One day and two nights, same as you. Where has that come from?” 

In one day and two nights without the Doctor, Rory realized he needs him as much as the Doctor needs Rory, and that he would _never_ give up on the Doctor or on traveling with him. He made his choice. 

What did _the Doctor_ realize? 

“Before that, you wanted me out of the way to keep me safe. After, when you finally managed to land, you didn't let me out of your sight – or out of TARDIS grabbing range. And now, you're trying to keep me safe again by doing things the complicated and uncertain way, instead of going about it like we've been doing, like we _know_ it works, but you haven't even _mentioned_ dropping me back in Leadworth as an option,” he reasons, and the Doctor's eyes go wide and pale and almost vulnerable, and Rory hesitates. “What happened? Why did you change your mind? As long as I've known you, it's always been about fixing the cracks and helping around wherever you happen to visit if there's trouble. And suddenly, you're pulling back, closing yourself in the TARDIS, to keep _me_ away from danger.” 

The Doctor grimaces and looks away, and Rory goes quiet as the alien thinks. 

A couple seconds later, the Doctor sighs and lets himself plop back to lean against the console, which lets out a couple of high-pitched string chords for half a second. 

“I had a chat with my _conscience,_ apparently. A very long, very… very _loud_ chat. We argued. I insulted him, he kept reminding me I have emotions, confessions were made, realizations were reached, and the bastard just vanished to leave me dealing with the fallout on my own,” he explains with a scoff, and while Rory is confused for a second about the 'he' part, he decides to shrug it off a moment later. 

Who knows how alien brains work? The Doctor's is bound to be even _worse._

Besides, maybe he called Jack or some other previous companion. Rory has been his minder, babysitter, whatever. Who is to say any previous companions didn't fulfill that role? Or maybe he's talking about the TARDIS, but Rory is not sure about that one. Every time he talks about the ship, he refers to it as 'she'. 

“So…” Rory prompts when the Doctor goes silent, still leaning against the console but tense and glaring at the ground, and finally, the alien deflates with a sigh, closing his eyes for a moment before meeting Rory's with a pale vulnerable gold gaze. 

“So, I realized I don't want to lose people I care about anymore. Not even if you'd be safer without me,” he answers with a deep raspy voice, chocked by fear and who knows what else. 

Rory hesitates – and finally reaches out to rest a hand on the Doctor's shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. 

“I don't think I'd be safer anywhere else than with the most terrifying and grumpy of aliens,” he tells him with a grin, and the Doctor snorts as the tension building under Rory's hand finally dissipates. 

“That's what you say now,” the Doctor comments with his own grin, straightening once more, and Rory lets his hand drop with a shrug. 

“I've met _you._ I don't think it gets any worse than that.” 

“Hey!” the Doctor protests with an indignant expression, but as soon as Rory snorts, it cracks to let amusement through. “I'll let you know I can be _much_ worse than this. You're lucky I actually like you, Rory Williams.” 

“And I'm grateful for that every moment of the day. Now, what about this map of yours? Is there anything I can do to help?” he asks, turning to the console once more, and the Doctor hums and fiddles a bit with some of the lines, turning the blue display to the same orange glow of the column and thus hiding the pattern. 

“Perhaps. A human is a far simpler being, your timeline should be easier to chart, even with you being a time traveler. I haven't managed to get anywhere with mine, anyway. I'd say it's worth a try,” he answers with a mocking grin, and Rory rolls his eyes with amusement, glad to see the Doctor more relaxed and more _himself._

He's glad they had the heart-to-heart, but _this_ Doctor is Rory's Doctor, rudeness and manic glee and somewhat sadistic humor and all. 

“Definitely worth a try. So, what am I supposed to – Oh, wait!” he exclaims when he goes to clap his hands and remembers the shirt is still in his grip. “I was actually looking for you because I forgot to tell you something, back in 1969. I swear I saw you then, but you were wearing this. And when you actually came—” 

“I hadn't changed from my 1847 outfit,” the Doctor finishes with interest, nodding and taking the shirt. “I guess we'll have to go back so I can – Oh, _come on!_ Seriously?” he scoffs as he finally unfolds it and sees the text, and Rory can't help but chuckle. 

“Sorry! I had to get it, when we were in Cardiff. It was the perfect souvenir.” 

The Doctor grumbles under his breath, but shoves it into a pocket all the same. 

“Right, sure, whatever. Let's get _this_ done and then we'll take that detour. You won't believe how long it takes to calibrate the chronocartographer,” he huffs, turning back to the machine, and Rory grins but nods, facing the console as well. “Alright, this is how it works – the lines will light up as soon as the chronocartographer is tuned to you. You just need to follow them, to tap the ones that light up, until you reach the end of the timeline or the temporal event you're looking for. The chronocartographer translates and records it, and then we can plot our route to the key times and events that should lead us to our destination.” 

“Should?” 

“It's a map. Just because you have a map, that doesn't mean you can't get lost,” the Doctor grumbles, glaring at the ceiling, but the TARDIS just lights up with a tingle that is almost _amused._ “Right. Did you understand that?” he asks, ignoring the TARDIS to turn to Rory, who nods. 

“It sounds simple enough. Just touch the lines and follow them to the end.” 

“Exactly. Put your hand here, and be ready,” he adds, pointing to a depression at the side of the console, like a cup holder, and which feels disturbingly fleshy when Rory slips his hand inside. “Hold it one second… Alright, it's reading you. I'm turning the chronocartographer on,” the Doctor adds as he slides some glowing blue circles-within-circles designs over the side of the console, arranging them in a pattern as Rory takes his hand out of the hole— 

As soon as the Doctor steps back, one of the lines lights up and Rory slaps his hand on it before he can stop himself. 

A low hum sounds all around them as the crystal columns framing them light up softly. The console feels warm under Rory's hand, especially the line, and so Rory almost misses it when a second one lights up a bit further to the left. 

This one, when he rests his finger on it, plays some sad piano notes even as the violins change the note. 

Rory frowns as he slides his fingers further up the two lines, following the spot of warmth that leaves blue behind his touch. He may not understand the time map like the Doctor, but the melody playing now is very slow and _sad._ However, when he spares a look at the alien, standing by the console but out of Rory's way, the Doctor just nods. 

Rory's doing a good job. It's alright, this is how it's supposed to go. And really, for all Rory knows, a sad melody might mean a clear path or a straightforward one. It could be sad because it lacks adventure – Rory knows _that_ would be a sad day for the Doctor, after all. 

So, Rory follows the lines, abandoning the violins to touch on some not-flutes wind instruments, though the violins keep playing alongside them – and the piano's next notes actually turn the melody tentatively hopeful. 

Okay. He can do it. Rory can follow some lines and draw a time map. 

Almost as if summoned by his confidence, the piano line curls and the following stretch is fuller, more hopeful even, as the wind instruments change their pattern and what sounds like a chorus joins the piano notes. 

And just like that, the sad song has turned completely hopeful. 

It twists again, going back to the sadder tones, but the piano continues with the extra notes and thus the song doesn't lose the undercurrent of hope in it. And oh, that is definitely a chorus, it's clearer as the song goes back to clearly hopeful once more, adding the high-pitched tones of some flutes to it and some drums— 

And the lines zigzag into a more elaborate pattern of _power_ and _reassurance_ and _awe,_ and Rory grins widely even as the Doctor smiles and cheers Rory on under his breath. 

Yes, this is the kind of music that fits the scenes where _something_ changes, when a ray of hope comes in the middle of hopelessness, like the sun rising over Helm's Deep or the Doctor telling Prisoner Zero what the clocks turning to 0:00 means. 

The melody goes higher, building up, until the lines stop growing and the notes hold – and Rory is almost on the next pattern _before_ it begins, feeling it in his bones as the song descends into a frenzied but confident pace that makes Rory think of running and the Doctor's grin and adventure and saving the day. 

The violins come back again to accompany the flutes, enhancing that feeling of the Doctor talking and everything falling to place, the plan coming to fruition, even as the alien practically vibrates himself off the floor in excitement at whatever the hopeful song is telling him. 

“Yes! It's working! Keep at it, Rory, it's working!” he crows happily as he twirls in his spot, watching the crystal columns and the panels of the walls illuminate alongside the beats and the notes and the instruments coming in and fading into the background, the tone guiding their way, the bass pulling up once more— 

The lines twist and Rory chases after them with the same excitement he does the Doctor, though he almost misses his next turn when some kind of wind seems to break into the melody, distorting the hopeful and strong song, taking over it until nothing but static remains— 

And then the instruments come back, but it is for a _danger incoming_ kind of melody, one that makes Rory think of a plan going wrong, like the blue screwdriver dying on the Doctor— 

The song goes higher pitched and _ends._

Rory stays frozen in his spot, eyes tracing over the blue lines all over the console as he searches for a new spot, a new timeline to chase after, feeling only cool and smooth whatever-material-it-is under his fingers instead of warmth. 

This can't be how it ends, can it? 

But when he finally realizes that this is it and turns to the Doctor, he finds him as still as Rory is, staring into the lighted up blue panels with disbelief. 

“I… I'm sorry. I think it's over,” Rory tells him softly, straightening and looking down at the pattern with disappointment, feeling almost betrayed. 

“It's alright,” the Doctor answers after a moment, relaxing and studying the panels and the spots of light on the crystals more intensely now, calculating. “It's good. Not what I was looking for, but it's good. How about we go take care of that errand of yours and try again later?” he suggests, and Rory relaxes at the words. 

He can try again. He can find something better. 

“Sure,” he answers, and follows as the Doctor turns to the door. “Shouldn't you have to, you know, turn the time mapper off or something?” he asks with confusion as he sends one last look at the machine, still with Rory's lines all over it. 

“Chronocartographer, Rory, pay attention. And don't worry about that. The TARDIS will keep the room in temporal stasis while we're gone. We can take a look at your chronocartography later, get some ideas and try again,” the Doctor answers calmly as he puts the coat on. 

Rory is about to ask what 'ideas' they can get from an erroneous time map based on his potential future, but the Doctor jumping in surprise immediately erases that train of thought. 

“What in blazing Skaro – Why is this lighting up now?” the Doctor hisses as he reaches into an inner pocket to take out the psychic paper, which, true to his words, is _glowing._

When he opens it, though, his confused frown immediately turns to recognition and… is that a hint of hesitation or exasperation? Both? 

“What is it?” Rory asks as he follows the Doctor out of the room, not even blinking when the first corner they turn deposits them in the control room. 

“An invitation. One which I don't really want to answer but which I'm afraid I'll have to,” he grumbles as he sets the course, and Rory obediently grabs onto the rails. 

“Should we go change?” Rory asks as the TARDIS wheezes happily and deposits them on their destination with less of a fuss than usual. 

“Unnecessary. There is enough strangeness, we won't stand out with these clothes,” the Doctor answers as he checks the screen once more, pockets the TARDIS’ flip phone, and finally steps away from the console, adjusting his coat. 

“Are you going to tell me where we are?” Rory questions with a deadpan and a sigh, trying to keep his small smile at bay. 

Business as usual then, no longer held back by fear of something happening to Rory. If he didn't know it would only inflate his ego—or get him scoffed at—Rory would almost congratulate the Doctor for trusting himself a bit more. 

“Oh, you'll like this one,” the Doctor grins as he grabs onto the TARDIS' doors, turning to meet Rory's eyes with mischief. “Rory Williams…” 

And he opens the doors to a _stadium_ standing just past the small forest they landed in and flying vehicles whooshing to it. 

“Welcome to the New Roman Empire's Chariot Fair of 12010!” 

As they approach the stadium, which is _much_ larger than it seems from a distance, the Doctor explains that it isn't really a chariot fair, not of the cart-pulled-by-horses variety. Apparently, in the New Roman Empire, 'chariot' is the word for 'car'. 

“Why would they change that?” 

“It became outdated, reused, applied to other stuff. Humanity has gone through a lot since 2010, they've changed their way of looking at things. So, when they look back to the past, sometimes they don't get things _exactly_ right. As thus, a vehicle that moves on four wheels and is propelled by a combustion engine is not a _car,_ cars work with a system of gravity repulsion and are prepared for long and comfortable journeys. No, something like what your cars are, they call chariots. Ergo, the Chariot Fair,” the Doctor tells Rory as they finally join the line of attendees waiting outside. 

Most of them are humanoid, wearing elegant shimmering short togas over strange clothes, with some even changing colors or with glowing patterns. Others are aliens, with extra appendages or strange skin colors or even something as simple as a third eye, wearing the short togas or clad in what Rory would assume to be their culture's formal clothing. But just as the Doctor said, there's more people in casual clothing not unlike theirs, human and alien alike, and so when it's their turn to step into the doors, the security there don't even spare them a second glance. 

In fact, with security clad in classic Roman armor and with white furred capes hanging off their shoulders, _they_ look far more outlandish than any of the guests. 

“They take the whole 'Roman Empire' thing seriously, don't they?” Rory whispers as soon as they're inside, waiting for their guest badges, and the Doctor snorts. 

“Well, of course. Like I said, a lot of stuff happened. Humanity has expanded out of this world, and they've been out into the stars for almost ten thousand years now. So, while all of them may be human, more of less hybridized by now, they are split into different unions, alliances, empires and whatnot. The New Roman Empire extends almost all over the Solar System, except Mercury, which is too hot. And before they became the New Roman Empire, they were a branch of the Alpha Quadrant Alliance. However, when the Solar System got in trouble and the Alliance failed to protect them, the Earth President took a look at the past and united the system under a new government to fight back. And they did it. Of course, the Romans were the greatest military machine in the history of the universe. It just took them a bit to remember that,” the Doctor explains, and Rory looks around wide-eyed and awed, staring at the security guards with different eyes. 

“That makes sense. I mean, change gladius for lightsabers or something, and it's perfectly understandable,” Rory whispers, and the Doctor is the one to look confused now. “What, you're the only one allowed to know about the classic Roman Empire? I learnt a lot more than I ever wanted to when I was younger. I had a friend who was obsessed with the Romans and their empire, and she talked _a lot,”_ he explains, taking a look at the signs that point them to the exhibits before he takes off, though it seems to take the Doctor a minute for him to catch up. 

“Is that so? What happened to that friend of yours?” the Doctor asks casually as he grabs what looks like a leaflet, but which turns out to be a _digital_ leaflet for him to scroll through. 

Rory frowns softly before shrugging. 

“I can't quite remember. Probably left Leadworth for who knows where,” he answers dismissively as they finally enter the main exhibition dome – and his jaw falls to the ground. “Oh my _God…_ That's – Those are 20th and 21st century cars! Oh, that one is one of my favorites!” he squeals, rushing to the gleaming silver McLaren to their left. “You know, just this once, you were right. I _really_ like this trip,” he tells the Doctor with a large grin as he looks at the next stalls, and he's so busy admiring the vehicles that he pays no mind to his indignant _oi!_

For once since Rory joined the Doctor in the TARDIS, it's Rory the one that talks as they move along while the Doctor listens with a grin on his face as he tells him about the cars, their characteristics, how _unflattering_ that mustard yellow is for this model but how _stubbornly_ the brand clings to it, ever since they first released the car in 1973… 

He tells the Doctor of his miniature collection and the magazines that go with it, which he's been building on ever since he started when he was seven, and if he flushes when the Doctor laughs, it's because he's laughing with _joy._

Despite the meeting they're here for, the Doctor doesn't usher Rory along or takes him away from the exhibits, he walks by his side and listens and grins, amused and enjoying Rory's exuberance as much as Rory himself enjoys the cars. 

Oh, yes. Rory likes this new adventure the best. 

“Wait, is that…? It is! That's my favorite car!” he exclaims as they come across what looks like the fair's central stall, certainly bigger than those they've come across so far, and Rory doesn't even think before grabbing the Doctor's arm to make sure he doesn't miss the gorgeous sight in front of them. “Jaguar E-Type Convertible, a 1963 E-Type Roadster. They were produced in Britain between 1961 and 1975, based on Jaguar's D-Type racing car, which had won the 24 Hours of Le Mans for three consecutive years and – It's red! Just like the first collectible in my collection, it – Oh, isn't it the most beautiful vehicle you've ever seen?” he explains with excitement as he drags the Doctor to the very edge of the dais to admire the Jaguar from as many angles as he can catch. 

The Doctor snorts. 

“Not really. I like them _boxier,”_ he answers, and Rory waves him off without even turning. 

“Yeah, yeah, you've got no taste.” 

“I'm telling the TARDIS that.” 

“She likes me, and I like her, but I wouldn't drive her down the road to the pub. She knows that and she won't care. Now, _this_ beauty…” he tells the Doctor with a shrug, barely sparing him a look to see he's grinning widely in amusement at Rory's cheer. 

“A chariot fit for the Gods of old, isn't she?” a new voice asks in the honeyed and overly charismatic cadence of any vendor, but Rory turns to the newcomer nonetheless. 

He's as human as Rory, at first glance, old and seasoned and with short brown hair. He's wearing what Rory would categorize as a senator's tunic and toga, from what he remembers of his books on the Roman Empire, which means he's easily visible and recognizable even in a place crowded with as much variety as the Fair. 

“Yes. Oh, definitely, yes,” Rory answers, returning his eyes to the Jaguar as the vendor sidles to his side. 

“And you seem well informed of the history of its line. Why, I'm tempted to bet a true enthusiast such as yourself would even know how to drive one!” 

“Well, of course! It's been my dream since I was seven.” 

“Then what are you waiting for?” the vendor asks – and a key is suddenly dangled in front of Rory's nose. “There is a testing road just over our heads. Would you like to take her for a spin?” 

Rory looks up at the runways hanging high over the stalls, with flashes of color rushing through them every now and then, and which he had assumed to be decoration. They're roads? For potential buyers to test the cars? They're actually roads that Rory could drive in a red Jaguar E-Type Convertible? 

“Oh God,” he manages to choke out when he finally looks back at the vendor and his winning grin. “I mean, really?” 

“Of course! One must test a product before buying it. And I can assure you, these will be the best invested 1350 aureus of your life,” the vendor promises, but _that_ throws Rory off. 

Hesitant, he turns to the Doctor, who leans closer to whisper in his ear. 

“2,160,000 pounds,” he tells him, and Rory's face goes blank. 

“Huh… I don't have that money,” he chokes out, because _two million pounds._

The vendor's smile turns _glacial._

“I should've guessed judging by your _rags._ But trends change, and some planets are so _bohemian…_ Well then, off with you. You're scaring my _respectable_ clients,” he hisses, and Rory grimaces and shrinks away, sending one last longing look at the Jaguar before he turns to the Doctor, who is glaring at the vendor with just the beginnings of a snarl on his lips. 

“Sir! There you are!” a new voice interrupts before the Doctor can deliver his tongue-lashing or Rory can guide him away, startling the three men into turning to the young security man bursting out of the crowd. “I've been looking everywhere for you,” he says as he bends down – no, as he _kneels_ on the ground, right fist to his chest in salute. “Hail, Caesar!” 

The vendor drops his keys. 

Rory turns to the Doctor in confusion, but the alien just looks at the newcomer kneeling in front of him with interest. 

“Yes, hail me, and all that. I was hoping to spend a peaceful day in the fair without being recognized, and you've just spoiled that. So, on your feet. Deliver your message,” the Doctor sniffs disdainfully, slipping with almost terrifying ease into the disinterested and slightly inconvenienced figure of an Imperial ruler who has just had his day off interrupted. 

“Cleopatra will see you now, Ceasar. She sent me to show you to her private box,” he explains, and when he stands up, Rory notices there's a red mark slanting on his lips, looking strangely enough like lipstick. 

Future fashion. Not the weirdest he's seen, but still strange nonetheless. 

“Very well. Come on then, Rory. We'll get your gift from a more respectable house at another time,” he orders pompously, though his grin is pure mischief as they leave the wailing and begging vendor behind. 

“You're an evil man, has anyone ever told you that?” Rory asks the Doctor, but he just straightens proudly. 

“I just gave him a lesson in humility, acceptance, and not taking what's in front of him at face value. What's wrong with that?” he retorts, and Rory can only roll his eyes as they follow the messenger to a private elevator. 

“Ceasar?” he asks softly as they step inside, with the Roman bowing once more as he's left outside the elevator doors after inputting its destination. 

“Did you see the lipstick on his face? Hallucinogenic, most likely. I wouldn't put it past her,” the Doctor hums as the 'elevator' slides diagonally over the wall, towards the largest of the 'offices' hanging from the ceiling. 

“Her?” Rory asks, but that's the moment the doors open. 

The office is strangely enough like one of those _life in the future_ scenes that appeared in the sixties, with sleek and slightly impractical furniture in eye-watering colors and a lot of rounded shapes, and a wall of windows to look down at the fair. 

There's an egg-shaped armchair sitting on a thin stand in front of said window, its plastic white casing as eye-watering as the neon limes and pinks of everything else, with an overly plush glaringly magenta cushion in it – and a woman. 

She's wearing the kind of Ancient Egypt tunic that Rory expected when he heard the name Cleopatra, complete with gold ornaments and large collar and even a wig with a crown-thingy, though the gold is actively glowing instead of just reflecting the light. She has the classic elongated black line painted under her eyes, but that's the only makeup Rory can catch. There's a wine glass of gold and crystal in her hand that she's putting down when the door opens, revealing the kind of smirk that Rory can only describe as _trouble_ and that, for some reason, makes a pang of sadness flash through him. 

“Hello, Sweetie.” 

_What…?_

“Hi, Honey. I'm home,” the Doctor purrs right back, sauntering into the room and leaving Rory floundering after him, completely lost. 

“And what sort of time do you call this?” the woman retorts, and the Doctor points at Rory over his shoulder as his answer. 

“Sorry, the assistant wanted to take a look around. Who am I to deny him?” 

“I'm not your assistant,” Rory retorts, and the amused and mischievous grins he gets at his outburst are practically identical. “Sorry. Who are you?” 

“Rory, Professor River Song. River, Rory Williams,” the Doctor introduces simply as the woman stands up from her seat to join them, and her smile brightens in equal parts glee and even _more_ mischief. 

“Ah, I'm going to be a Professor someday, am I? How exciting,” she cheers before turning to the Doctor, who is grimacing as if physically pained. “Spoilers.” 

“I _know._ How was I supposed to know? It isn't like we meet linearly!” 

“Explanation, please?” Rory interrupts before they can start bickering, he _knows_ that look on River's face. 

“Doctor River Song, archaeologist and time traveler. I've known the Doctor for a long time, but we keep meeting in the wrong order,” she explains with a shrug, and Rory winces reflexively— 

“Not the Doctor,” the alien hisses, but there's none of the venom that Rory feared, only a steely resolution. “So, don't call me that.” 

“What do you mean? Of course you're the Doctor,” she protests, confused and slightly worried, and _now_ does the Doctor scoff warningly. 

“No, I am _not._ We'll have this conversation, River. _This face_ is not the Doctor's, no matter what nonsense you've lived through that has led you to believe otherwise. You'll meet the real Doctor, so forget about this face,” he explains with a calm that makes the hair at the back of Rory's neck stand on edge. 

River hesitates, obviously still confused and unwilling to let the topic go, but Rory knows better than to get them in that situation. 

“Do I need to Rule 6 you?” he asks tentatively, because the Doctor is not about to explode _yet,_ but after Rory's latest experience with an angry Doctor, he's not sure if he wants to let things get that out of control again. 

For _all_ of their sakes. 

Thankfully, his words snap them both out of their staring, with the Doctor scoffing harmlessly at Rory while River looks on in confusion. 

“Oh, of course you know about that one. No, I do _not_ need to be reminded of Rule 6. Really, Rory? It isn't like I'm about to blow up a planet!” he protests, and Rory shrugs with a sheepish grin. 

“Rule 6? I don't know that one,” River comments, and the Doctor winces before letting out an explosive huff. 

“Look pretty,” he says simply, and River perks up. 

“Oh! Look humanoid, don't get out of the tridimensional conformation, that makes sense. Unless we're talking about _another_ pretty…” 

“Wouldn't you like that,” the Doctor snorts as River's voice drops into a tone that Rory would very much _not_ want to be in the room for, thank you. 

“Spoilers,” she whispers as she lets the topic drop, before stepping back to the egg-shaped armchair to grab a TARDIS-blue ragged book. “Alright, since you insist, where are we up to? Have we done the Bone Meadows?” 

“It's still fairly early, River, put that away,” the Doctor answers with a huff, though the look he sends the book, scared yet longing at the same time, has Rory's curiosity peak. 

“What's that?” he asks even as River closes the book with clear interest, and any emotional mess the Doctor was going through is immediately buried under steel. 

“Stay away from it.” 

“Okay,” he answers almost immediately, wide-eyed, before looking at River. 

“It's our diary.” 

“ _Her_ diary,” the Doctor retorts, glaring at River, who grins. 

“ _Our_ diary. Our adventures together. Time travel,” she explains, and this time, the Doctor only huffs. 

“Yeah, okay,” Rory repeats, though this time it's with understanding. “So, if this is still early for you, that means that whatever she has in there is your future. Makes sense to stay away.” 

“It's _her_ diary, _the Doctor's_ diary. I have no part in any of that,” the Doctor tells them almost blankly as he moves to the window, though Rory can practically _see_ the shadow dragging him down. 

Damn. He'd been doing so well… 

River turns to Rory with confusion and worry, but he can only shake his head and mouth _later._ The Doctor won't like what he has to say, and it's best if they don't burden him with it. But River knows _the Doctor,_ so not only does she deserve to know, but she can probably help as well. 

So, later. 

River looks pained for a moment, but then she nods, firm once more. 

“I think you'll want to see what I called you here for,” she calls, grabbing a yellowed envelope from within the pages of her diary before shoving the book into a well-worn bag. 

_That_ gets the Doctor's attention, snapping him out of his gloom so he turns back to them. 

The envelope was closed by a wax seal, now broken, but it's the curly words on the front that make Rory and the Doctor frown. 

_To the Doctor in the Blue Box_

“It was sent to the United Kingdom's Royal Family in 1865, left hidden until it was discovered in 1941. Winston Churchill tried to reach you, but the call was rerouted to me in the Vortex. I took this from the Royal Collection in 5145 with the blessing of Elizabeth the Tenth, procured a Vortex Manipulator, and made my way where it directed me. And then, I called you,” River explains solemnly, and the Doctor finally takes a deep breath and accepts the envelope. 

Rory marvels at how well-preserved the letter is, especially if it survived all the way to the year 5145, but as soon as the Doctor unfolds it, he pushes the thought away as he reads over his shoulder. 

_Esteemed Doctor,_

_I am writing from the midst of an asylum, and perhaps that is the reason I am writing at all. It was the night after your departure when I first had the dream, but I let it not distract me from my work. You had told me much, and we had seen incredible and impossible things, and so I assumed it but a consequence of your visit. I had it again, on January of 1861, so vague that I convinced myself it was but a coincidence._

_But it has happened again, every January 21st since 1861._

_However, it wasn't until two days ago that I decided that something needed to be done. The dream was not only late, but it was also clearer and more terrifying than I remembered, and I am ashamed to say it is the reason for my current location. I had kept fighting as you suggested, but I had used my mind as I had seen you do, all those years back. And yet, the dream left me rattled and heartbroken. To witness such a thing, I believe, would drive even the strongest man mad. That is what happened, I let my emotions get the best of me, and my nervous breakdown was the last straw my colleagues needed to have me admitted in the asylum._

_In here, the dream is worse, to the point I have noticed details that I hope can help avert the nightmare I am forced to see every night. To this aim I write this letter, which I hope will reach you in time._

_In my dream, the night sky is set on fire, and the reason for it is your magnificent blue box. It burns, Doctor, it explodes like all the gunpowder in the world is set ablaze in its insides, and the universe explodes with it. But there are voices that speak the words and numbers that follow:_

_Currum Ostendre_  
_XXI Januarius XMMX_  
_51460534, -21194553_  
_510603114, -13168091_  
_50801987, -19195963_  
_51211350, -96493549_  


_And there's also another voice, a singular voice, which speaks the following:_

_The Pandorica opens._

_I understand any of that as much as I did your science, which is not at all. But I fear it, and I am sure the whole world would fear it too, were they aware of this. I hear them scream at night, the lunatics sharing this building with me, and their cries echo mine. The Pandorica, the Pandorica… They wish for silence, Doctor, as much as I do._

_But this once, there is no way for me to help, no solution to wash away illness or distraction to win Mister Williams more time to act. This time, the fate of the world, of the universe, is in your hand. I hope that by transcribing my dream and the strange words in it, by making you aware of them, you'll be warned of whatever evil is to come and be able to act appropriately._

_I wish you the best._

_Sincerely,_

_Doctor Ignaz Semmelweis_  
_State Insane Asylum of Lazarettgasse_  
_1st of August 1865_  


Rory swallows with difficulty before turning to the Doctor, who is frowning down at the letter. 

“1865… That's the year Doctor Semmelweis died,” Rory tells him, and he finally looks up from the paper. “We… Did we kill him? Are we the reason…?” 

“No,” the Doctor interrupts, resting a hand on Rory's shoulder to squeeze it reassuringly. “He made his choice, as did we. What we need to do now is figure out this vision of his and stop whoever is behind it.” 

“Right. Right, of course,” Rory whispers, taking a deep breath to center himself. “He said the TARDIS was exploding.” 

“I assume it's some kind of warning,” River comments, and Rory frowns, worried but mostly unconvinced. 

“What, something's going to happen to the TARDIS?” 

“It might not be that literal. Anyway, this is where he wanted you. Date and map reference, see?” she adds, pointing at the bunch of numbers at the end. “And the reason for it.” 

“The Pandorica opens,” Rory reads again as she shifts her finger, racking his mind for the reason that sounds so familiar but taking the letter nonetheless when the Doctor pushes it on him. “What is a Pandorica?” he asks River, since the Doctor seems busy doing something with the sonic screwdriver to the digital leaflet he picked at the fair. 

“A box, a cage, a prison. It was built to contain the most feared thing in all the universe.” 

“And it's a fairy tale, a legend,” the Doctor scoffs, pocketing the sonic and scrolling around whatever the leaflet is showing now. 

“But if it isn't, if it is real, it's here and it's opening. And it's got something to do with your TARDIS exploding,” River points out, before frowning at the leaflet when the Doctor grins and shows them what's in it. “And it's _hidden,_ obviously. Buried for centuries. You won't find it on a map.” 

“No, of course not,” the Doctor agrees, but he still holds the leaflet-turned-map up, zooming in on something with a couple of fingers. “But if you buried the most dangerous thing in the universe, you'd want to remember where you put it,” he adds as he pulls his hand back, and Rory exchanges a surprised look with River. 

There, right in the middle of the map, is a very recognizable shape and a single word. 

_Stonehenge_

* * *

Rory is almost reluctant to leave the Jaguar's driver seat when they arrive at Stonehenge, but he does it nonetheless. River, changed out of her Cleopatra costume and into a more sensible pair of pants, tool belt and white thick jacket, grins at him before turning to Koschei with a lifted eyebrow that speaks louder than words. 

Koschei grins. 

They needed transport to get to Stonehenge, so he procured them a vehicle. And if that such vehicle just happened to be Rory's favorite car, what about it? It was just the best fitting one. 

… Never mind that it _hadn't_ been the best fit, the car only sits _two._ And so, River had sat on Koschei's lap and they'd talked all the way to Stonehenge about the latest gossip at Stormcage and the TARDIS' _choice_ to keep the police box shape, because _of course_ Koschei knows how to fix the chameleon circuit, he has _tried_ it, how dare you suggest he has no idea of what he's doing at all, River. 

Rory had given them a look and decided to focus on the road instead, which, once the engine started, had supposed no problem at all. He really loves this car, and the fact that it has a pseudo-combustion engine that mimics 21st century engines instead of the real deal had made no difference on his wide grin. 

Whatever. Koschei found them a vehicle and they're finally where they should. Time to find the thing some idiot decided to call a 'Pandorica'. Koschei has better things to do. 

Like take a look at Rory's chronocartography. He's a human, yes, but he's also a time traveler. Which means that the future of _sadness_ and _hope_ and _love_ and _loss_ and _death_ doesn't have to be the one to happen. 

They can change it. Koschei can change it. He just needs to take another look at the chronocartography to see where _finding Amy_ turns into _Koschei's death._

So, screwdriver in Koschei's hand and handheld computer in River's, they get to work. 

“I can't believe Stonehenge is still standing ten thousand years into the future. Do they keep fixing it to look like the one in 2010? I could swear it's the same as in the pictures,” Rory asks as he follows River around, frowning at the rocks. 

“That's because Stonehenge was already old by the time its existence was first recorded. It's been here for tens of thousands of years. No one knows exactly how long,” she explains, and whatever Rory asks her next, it's too soft for Koschei to catch from where he is. 

They look at him, he notices that much, but he chooses to ignore it as he runs different scans over the stones. He has an idea of what they're talking about, even without hearing them. 

But Koschei can't tell them, not yet. He needs to get Amy back first, it'll be hard enough to tell the story once, he doesn't believe he'll be able to tell it twice. _And_ if his plan works, they will get Amy _and_ the Doctor back at the same time, and the explanation won't be necessary at all. 

“I still think you're trying too hard,” Theta huffs, though he stays just at the corner of his vision. “Oh, don't get me wrong, I like to be positive as much as the positiviest of them all, but you're starting to border on delusional. Wait, was that rude?” 

“Most positive. No, I'm not. And yes, _very,”_ Koschei answers as he finally glares at the ghost, who rubs the back of his neck nervously before shrugging the words off. 

“You know what I mean.” 

“And you know what I plan. Now shoo, I'm working,” he scolds him, returning to the sonic and ignoring Theta's pout. 

“Prisoner Zero!” Rory exclaims, startling Koschei into turning around and Theta into vanishing. “That's where I heard about the Pandorica. Two years ago, when we met, remember? Prisoner Zero said it was going to open,” he adds as he meets Koschei's gaze when he approaches them, and he frowns— 

And tenses in realization as the memory flashes to the forefront of his thoughts. 

_“The cracks in the skin of the universe, don't you know where they came from? You don't, do you?” Prisoner Zero asks through the woman's mouth, sounding almost pitying, before changing to the older girl's. “The Doctor in the TARDIS doesn't know. Doesn't know, doesn't know!” it chants mockingly, and the Master's shoulders tense threateningly, barely holding himself back from reacting to the teasing. “The universe is cracked. The Pandorica will open. Silence will fall.”_

It did, didn't it? All the way back in 2008, in Leadworth, after coming out of a crack in the universe itself. Prisoner Zero knew about the Pandorica, about whatever someone is calling a Pandorica, and its relation to both the Doctor, the TARDIS and the cracks. 

… And its relation to the TARDIS' pilot, the TARDIS herself, and the cracks. Because, if _this_ is _it,_ it isn't the Doctor the one here to deal with it all. 

“It did,” he answers Rory, frowning as he goes over the words again. “The Pandorica will open.” 

_Silence will fall,_ too. And that one is another sentence he's been hearing a lot about, lately. From Prisoner Zero, Lamia, Jack, the Fever… The Pandorica will open, the cracks in the universe, silence, the end of everything— 

And 26 June 2010. 

All of them tend to go together, how the cracks and the Pandorica and Koschei's meddling will lead to the end of the universe, to silence, on 26 June 2010, or something of the like. 

If this is it… 

If this is it, that means this is his chance to get everything back to the way it should be. This is his chance to find this Pandorica, stop the universe from cracking, and get Amy and the Doctor back. 

“Sweetie, I'm picking up fry particles everywhere. Energy weapons discharged on this site,” River informs him after a second, tapping on her computer. “I've cross-referenced any battles or other conflicts that have happened on Earth since year 0, and none of them match. There has never been a fight with energy weapons on Stonehenge.” 

Right. Which means energy weapons were discharged here _before_ their own invention. Taking into account what the Pandorica is supposed to be… 

“If the Pandorica is here, it contains the mightiest warrior in history. Half the galaxy would want a piece of that, and the other half would want it dead. They would even fight over it, over who takes it or who gets to blow it up,” he tells the other two, looking around as he looks for the source of the energy he can feel tickling at his feelers, finally approaching one of the altar rocks in the middle of the circle. “We need to get down there.” 

Fortunately, River has come ready for anything, and what the Jaguar lacks in seats, it makes up for in trunk. So, as the sun sets on them, they place some LED lanterns both around the stone circle and the inner altar area, and, to Rory's chagrin, they take the Jaguar's gravity repulsors off to rewire them to feed off of a couple small batteries and attach to the rock. 

“I told you, with its engine, it doesn't _need_ the repulsors. You can still drive it.” 

“It's not the driving that worries me. That car costs _two million pounds._ What happens when they figure out you aren't Caesar and Cleopatra and make us pay for the damage?” 

“TARDIS, run. We're going to save their planet; they can deal with a broken car.” 

Rory buries his face in his hands with a groan, but River grins in delight. 

“Don't worry, Rory, he always does that.” 

“That doesn't make it _better.”_

“Of course not, but you learn that when he's right, it's actually right. They can deal with a broken car,” she tells him with a shrug, and Koschei is caught between pride and indignation. 

“ _When_ I'm right? I'll take that as an insult.” 

“However you please, Sweetie. Now, come over here. It's ready.” 

And ready it is. With a whir of machinery, the altar stone moves aside to reveal a staircase down into the ground. 

“The Underhenge,” Koschei proclaims with a wide grin, and Rory and River both roll their eyes in unison. “… Okay, that was freaky. Don't do it again,” he tells them seriously, but decides to climb down before they can grin at him instead. 

Ugh. _Humans._

It's dark down here, too dark for human eyes, so Koschei decides to ignore the closed door and reach for the torch instead. The sonic makes quick work of lighting it up, and so, when River and Rory get down the stairs with help from River's torch, at least they can see enough to put that away. 

River quickly finds a second torch to add some more light to the place, and after a look around, they turn their attention to the only noticeable feature of the entrance. 

The door. The large double doors separating the world from whatever secret Stonehenge hides under itself. It doesn't have a lock, only a wooden bar, large and heavy, and so Koschei gives River a look. She moves back obediently, and when Rory makes to step forward, she keeps him in place. 

Koschei is a Time Lord. This is but a stick to him. 

So, after a grin, he lifts the plank off and lets it fall to the ground. River joins him then, grinning excitedly, and Rory obediently shuffles away from the front of the door, in case there are any traps waiting for them. Mirroring River's grin, they both push the doors open— 

And a couple steps into the room, Koschei stops in shock. 

Stonehenge has a large cavern underneath, with old dried roots barely clinging to the ceiling and abandoned cobwebs hanging from ripped threads. The stone monoliths are buried even deeper, which makes them look like columns, and there's some stray moonlight coming out of _somewhere._

But the reason for Koschei's sudden lack of breath is the large and perfectly squared stone cube standing on a small dais in the middle of the room. A cube with a circular design on each face. 

“It's a Pandorica,” he whispers when River and Rory step to his side, unable to tear his eyes off of the monument. 

Well, who'd have thought? Koschei had expected some fraud there, like his own with the Toclafane, but that looks _legitimate._ And it feels legitimate too, the buzzing of a forcefield, the terrifying stillness of a time stop, the muted dullness of a power source thrumming inside it… 

If that's a fake, it's scarily well done. 

“More than just a fairytale,” River adds, and when Koschei turns to her, she gives him an excited grin. 

Archeologist. Of course. 

Still, when Koschei steps closer to analyze it, she holds back with Rory, and, just like with Amy in the _Byzantium,_ Koschei knows he can trust her to keep his companion safe. 

Which is why, when his foot taps the Cyberman arm lying discarded on the ground under a veritable carpet of dust, Koschei doesn't grab Rory and drag him back to the TARDIS. It's just an arm. And if River knew enough to deal with Weeping Angels, she can keep Rory safe from a one-armed Cyberman. 

… Or, if he were to judge by the dust, maybe there's no Cyberman left to deal with anymore. 

So, Koschei takes in a breath and continues his approach, hearing his companions tentatively follow, with Rory sticking close while River fans out to check behind the pillars. 

Slowly, carefully— _scared out of his wits, actually—_ Koschei lifts a hand when he's close enough – and rests it on the Pandorica. 

It's buzzing with energy inside, and all the defensive measures make his skin itch, but other than that, it's nothing but cool stone under his hand. 

He can feel Rory's gaze on his back, his tension and the way he scans him for any sign of needing medical attention, and so Koschei forces himself to keep breathing. 

Rory asked what the Pandorica was, and Koschei told him it was a legend. Now that they have the actual Pandorica in front of them, it seems he owes Rory an explanation. 

“There was a goblin, or a… trickster,” he starts, going over _what_ could be in there with the information they have from the story. “Or a warrior. A nameless, terrible thing, soaked in the blood of a billion galaxies. The most feared being in all the cosmos,” he adds as he walks around it, focusing on the circular design on the side, all of the keys and locks and layers keeping the monster at bay, those engraved on stone and those that seep through it. “And nothing could stop it, or hold it, or reason with it. One day it would just drop out of the sky and tear down your world.” 

“If… If it was so powerful, and terrible, how did it end up in there?” Rory asks as he takes a step closer, and Koschei stops, thinking back to see if he has ever heard anything about that part _beyond_ the legend itself. 

He hasn't. 

“It's a fairytale. A good wizard tricked it,” he answers with a scowl, abandoning the current pattern to check on the one on the opposite face, because there are some multilayered defenses that are woven _in parts._

Yup, half on that side, the other half in this one… What could require such security? 

“I hate good wizards in fairytales. They always turn out to be him,” River scoffs from the other side of the Pandorica, but when Koschei pops his head out to scold her after propping his torch in a hole on the wall – he _knows_ she was talking about the Doctor – he sees only Rory holding River's torch. 

The woman is further away, both hands on her computer as she scans the monoliths. 

“So, it's like Pandora's Box, then? Almost the same name,” Rory asks, shifting the torch in his hold until he finds a way to hold it more comfortably. 

… They aren't that heavy, are they? River held her own single-handedly. 

And then, the words click. 

“The what?” 

“Pandora's Box. The story, with the box that had all the worst things in the world in it. I got it as a present when I was a kid. Used to read it all the time, trying to impress my friends.” 

Oh, doesn't that ring alarm bells… 

Koschei would bet his screwdriver that this 'friend' Rory was trying to impress is the same one that was obsessed with the Roman Empire. 

Which means Amy. Amy likes Romans, all Roman Empire-related things, that's why they ended up in Sicily, after all. And Koschei knows Amy, she would've told Rory and any other friends all about the Romans, and likely gifted them books like this Pandora's Box story, so they could talk about it and play together. 

That's good. It's _good._ Rory hasn't forgotten Amy completely, and he seems to recall her more than Koschei had initially thought. It should be easier to bring her back using him as an anchor then, as soon as this Pandorica thing is— 

Pandorica. _The_ Pandorica. Prisoner Zero in Amy's home, knowing about the Pandorica. Amy, obsessed with Romans and Pandora's Box and with the crack in her wall and the TARDIS in her garden… 

“What a coincidence…” Koschei grumbles under his breath, glaring at the box, and immediately feels Rory's and River's eyes on him. 

“Uh, yes?” 

“Prisoner Zero comes to Leadworth across a crack and knows about the Pandorica. You know about the Roman Empire and Pandora's Box, which just happens to sound eerily like the Pandorica,” he muses, restraining himself just before he mentions that 'friend' Rory can't remember, because as much as he wants to do that, this isn't the time. “Coincidences don't exist. Never ignore a coincidence. Most often than not, your life will depend on it later.” 

_Or someone else's life,_ Koschei doesn't say, for the same reason he didn't mention Amy before. 

The time will come to change that, but now, they need to focus on the Pandorica itself, and not on erased fiancées. 

Rory nods tentatively, but River does so firmly, obviously taking notes, as she rejoins them and turns her scanner to the Pandorica. 

“So, can you open it?” she asks, and Koschei grins. 

“Easily. Anyone can break _into_ a prison. But I'd rather know what I'm going to find first,” he tells her, once more analyzing the carvings, as she turns to her computer. 

“You won't have long to wait. It's already opening,” she tells him, and Koschei stills, watching as she taps away. “There are layers and layers of security protocols in there, and they're being disabled one by one. Like it's being unlocked from the inside,” she finishes in a whisper, pressing her ear to the stone to hear the same rumble of mechanisms moving that Koschei has been trying to ignore. 

“How long do we have?” he asks in a whisper as he meets her eyes. 

“Hours at the most.” 

“What kind of security?” 

“Everything. Deadlocks, time stops, matter lines.” 

“What could need all that?” 

“What could get past all that?” 

They fall silent for a second, pondering the enormity of those questions and their answers, and fearing what they find. 

Rory clears his throat. 

“Do you two want to be left alone?” he asks awkwardly as they turn to him, and only then does Koschei realize that he and River are pressed against the stone, gazing deeply into each other's eyes and speaking in hushed whispers. 

River grins and lifts her eyebrows suggestively, and Koschei can only snort and let his head drop before he pushes away from the Pandorica. 

Now that he's acknowledged them, he can hear the rumbling of the mechanisms without need of an ear pressed to the stone. 

_That_ is enough to sober him. 

“Think of the fear that went into making this box,” he tells both of his companions, and River's amusement and Rory's embarrassment clear at his words. “What could inspire that level of fear?” he asks, mostly to himself, as he takes an unconscious step closer to the Pandorica once more, resting his hands in the middle of one of the circles, going over any possible answer over and over and coming up blank – or _almost._ “Have we met?” he whispers so softly that his voice mixes with the rumbling of the Pandorica. 

There's no answer. 

Somehow, he's _disappointed._

“Why would it start to open now?” River asks with a frown when he pushes back once more, and Koschei scowls. 

“No idea.” 

“And what about Doctor Semmelweis? He died over ten thousand years ago. How could he know about it?” Rory asks, and this time, Koschei might have an answer. 

To confirm it, though, he takes out his sonic and finally steps away from the Pandorica, moving to the pillars instead – and _jackpot!_

“The stones. These stones are transmitters, very big and very powerful, broadcasting a warning to everyone, everywhere, everywhen. The Pandorica is opening.” 

“Everyone everywhere?” River repeats, but Koschei ignores her, on a roll now that he has an answer to _something._

“Ignaz was exposed to the cracks and the Fever, their telepathic field, and you might not have felt it, but the Fever was using the minds of the people in the Narrenturm as an energy source. Misfiring neurons, overactive brains, functioning in a way that is completely different to that of other humans – why do you think they go insane? It's not easy, to see things that other people could never understand, to hear what others would never even _believe._ Exposure to that kind of energy can do things to one's mind, unnoticeable most of the time, but still there. I'm sure Gottlieb and Král experienced those dreams too, they were also there when the Nestene pod was active and when we exposed the crack – but only Ignaz knew how to contact us. And 21st of January, that's today, it's a message on repeat, like a Christmas card. _Merry Christmas from Stonehenge! The Pandorica is opening!”_ he explains, though his last words degenerate into fear-fueled cheer. “Ugh, I _hate_ Christmas.” 

“Sweetie, _everyone?”_ River repeats yet again, but Koschei waves a hand because _yes, everyone, I just said that_ and they have more important things to worry about. 

“But what's in there? What could justify all this?” he asks himself, pacing across the room and running his hands through his hair. “Anything that powerful, I'd know about it. Why don't I know?” 

“Doctor, you said everyone could hear it. So, who else is coming?” River cuts _again,_ finally catching his attention with that accursed 'Doctor' thing— 

“Oh.” 

“Oh? Oh, what?” Rory asks nervously, looking from one to the other, but Koschei holds River's eyes for some long seconds, asking her to tell him she did _not_ say that, even though he can't get the words past the knot in his throat. 

“Okay,” River huffs as she somehow focuses on the present, taking her computer to the stones as Koschei whips out his screwdriver and starts to sonic them. “If it is basically a transmitter, we should be able to fold back the signal.” 

“Doing it,” he tells her, rushing from one stone to the next as he folds and folds and hopes and _hopes—_

“Doing what?” Rory asks in a higher-pitched voice than he should have, moving out of the way as Koschei rushes past to get at the other row. 

“Stonehenge is transmitting. It's been transmitting for a while, so _who_ heard?” Koschei tells him as answer, and when he turns around, finally done, he sees Rory has gone pale. “Alright, it should be feeding back to you now, River. What's out there?” 

“Give me a minute,” she tells him, and Koschei barely stops himself from snapping at her, taking some deep breaths as he forces his heartsbeat down and pushes the sound out of his head. “Around this planet… there are at least _ten thousand_ starships,” River tells them with disbelief in her voice and her eyes blown wide, and Koschei feels like all his efforts to regain his calm have been in vain. 

“At least?” Rory asks tentatively, clinging to his torch almost as if his life depended on it. 

“Ten thousand, a hundred thousand, a million, I don't _know._ There's too many readings,” she snaps, frowning at her computer as she starts typing again. 

Koschei takes a breath, and when his voice comes out low and even, he's calm enough to feel proud. 

“What kind of starships?” 

And all of his calm vanishes with his next sharp exhale as River patches the communications through the stones to echo in the chamber. 

“Maintaining orbit.” 

“I obey. Shield cover—” 

The drums take over his hearing, muting the words as they beat out of synch with those terrifyingly familiar mechanical tones. 

He failed. He failed again and _look at this now._ He failed and they're here, _at least ten thousand starships,_ and he's alone with only River and Rory and a car without gravity repulsors and no TARDIS— 

“What are those?” Rory asks with a frown, looking up at the ceiling, but River's eyes are on Koschei, the same fear on her face that he's sure is on his. 

“Daleks. Those are Daleks.” 

“Daleks? The ones you fought against in the Time War?” Rory asks with surprise, turning to Koschei and immediately replacing surprise with _worry._ “Whoa, easy! Deep breaths, come on, deep breaths…” 

“A Dalek fleet, minimum twelve thousand battleships, more than two thousand Daleks on each ship, that's at least _twenty-four million Daleks_ on top of our heads, and who knows how many of those are Special Weapons or Temporal Weapons or more of those Paradigm Daleks and we don't even have the TARDIS, it's just the three of us and you two are _human,_ you die so easily, and I could try to distract them but it's _twenty-four million Daleks_ and just one Time Lord and I couldn't destroy them in the Time War when I had _everything,_ how can I do it _now—”_

“Cyberships,” River calls, and that single word cuts through his thoughts like a laser knife through butter. 

For three point two seconds, Koschei just stands there, hands reaching for his head and wide eyes fixed on River, not breathing or thinking, and letting his hearts beat simply because he doesn't think of holding them still. 

And then, the word and its meaning seeps through. 

“Cyberships? Not Dalek ships? _Cyberships?”_ he asks, but River grimaces and shakes her head. 

“Cyberships _and_ Dalek ships.” 

“That's… That's good. That's _good!_ We have to start a fight, turn them on each other – which will be easy, it's the _Daleks._ And then we can figure out how to deal with the ones left, it'll at least buy us some time to get to the TARDIS and take the Pandorica away, see if we can't use whatever's inside to get rid of the Daleks once and for all—” 

“Sontaran. Four battlefleets,” River interrupts, and Koschei feels his hearts finally calm down as his grin grows, his head clearing as plans—beautiful _gorgeous_ plans—finally start firing through his brains. 

“Even better! Add more fodder, split their resources – it didn't work in the Time War, true, but if the Sontarans distract the Daleks and the Cybermen aim for their battleships—” 

“Terileptil,” River cuts yet again, and this time, Koschei hesitates, because despite their love of war, the Terileptil species was in no way on par with Daleks, Cybermen and Sontaran, not after the Master's last visit to their now destroyed home planet. “Raxacoricofallapatorian, Chelonian, Nestene, Drahvin, Sycorax, Haemogoth, Zygon, Atraxi, Draconian,” River continues, and all of Koschei's plans have gone up in flames by the time she looks up again to meet his disbelief with dread. “They're all here for the Pandorica.” 

Her gaze flicks to something over his shoulder and Koschei whirls around, suddenly noticing the _presence_ at his back— 

The Pandorica. He hadn't realized he'd been backpedaling until almost bumping into it, but he had. And now he's standing in front of it, staring up at that horrible, _terrible_ thing that has the worst and most deadly species of the universe swarming over them for a chance to get it. 

“What are you?” he asks the Pandorica with horror, almost _begging,_ but just like any other time, there's no answer. “What could you possibly be?” he hisses, crossing the distance and pressing his hands to the stone, trying to force his mind through— 

Nothing. Too many safeguards, too many defenses. All he gets for his trouble is an even bigger headache and no solution to the problem amassing just outside. 

The chamber shudders over their heads, sending dust and dirt trickling from the ceiling, and Koschei pushes away from the Pandorica with a snarl and runs. 

As soon as he gets outside, a Dalek battleship flies past Stonehenge, lifting higher again after its cursory scan. And it's not the only one. 

They're trying to find a weak spot, to gauge how many are defending the Pandorica and what they're armed with, to decide whether they need one Dalek or one battleship. They have competition waiting outside, they won't send everyone into the Pandorica's chamber when there are Cybermen and Sontaran and who knows what else to massacre. They would deal a crippling blow to many races by destroying the forces they have around Earth – destroying the rest of the universe would be easier than ever, as long as none of them get the Pandorica before the Daleks either claim it or set it ablaze. 

“What do we do?” Rory whispers, trembling from either fear or the cold, but Koschei can only look from one 'star' to the next, trying to see which species are the bravest or most confident, sending their scouts down when the Daleks are already around. 

And then, River speaks. She's not loud, or forceful, but she speaks from the heart, she _wants_ Koschei to listen, and so he stops and, while he keeps his eyes on the sky to avoid anyone trying to catch them unawares, his ears are focused solely on her. 

“Doctor, listen to me.” 

Of course, that can also be because of how she starts her plea. 'Doctor'? Seriously? After he told her he isn't it, that this face is _not_ the Doctor's? When he gives the Ponds the Talk, he'll have to include River. Maybe he'll have to tell them even _after_ they get the Doctor back. The last he wants is for them to start calling the Doctor 'Master' or something equally ridiculous. 

“Everything that ever hated you is coming here tonight. You can't win this. You can't even fight it. Doctor, this once, just this one time, please, you have to run.” 

The world goes black around Koschei as his breath is caught in his throat. His hearts are beating harshly inside his chest, their drumming bouncing around in his head. 

His most hated enemy is coming. He can't win. He can't even fight. Run. Run, run, run, run. _Run run run run. Runrunrunrun—_

“No,” he says, soft yet clear, and the world comes back, Stonehenge standing old yet strong all around, dewy grass brushing against his boots, the stars shining clear behind all the wheezing spaceships overheard. “No. Not this time.” 

This is not the Crucible. This is not the Time War. This is not the Dalek Emperor. These are not Time Lords that would as easily throw him into the Time Vortex as leave him for the Daleks to kill. And most important of all, _these are not the drums._

Koschei ran once, when faced with another impossible situation, with another unbeatable enemy that he had no hope to win against or even _fight._

He ran, and he lost his planet, his family, his _best friend._

And then, when faced with another impossible enemy— 

_“Get out of the way.”_

The Doctor stood when he had no chance to win or to even fight. He _took a gun_ and stood in front of Rassilon himself, when he knew a measly human firearm had no hope of killing a Time Lord for good, that Rassilon would just kill him with the Gauntlet before he was forced to regenerate. 

But he didn't run. He stood firm, and somehow, _someway,_ he accomplished yet another impossible victory against an impossible enemy. 

Koschei is alive today thanks to that, thanks to the Doctor deciding that he wouldn't run _just this one time._

This is Koschei's chance to fix what went wrong. The Pandorica is at the center of this mess with the cracks and 26 of July 2010, it's a key—or _the_ key—to closing the cracks and restoring what was taken. 

Father Octavian and his clerics. Laestrygon. The Cardiff Rift. Vastra's colony. The Nestene pod. Amelia Pond. The Doctor. 

If Koschei runs, he loses them all. Again. _For good._

“I can't win this. I can't even fight it. But this once, River… Just this one time, I won't run,” he tells his companions, turning to them with the stubbornness that helped him live past the end of his regeneration cycle, long after his last body should have turned to dust, with the determination that has burnt down galaxies and helped him get up again and again and _again._

River is looking at him with something too warm and admiring in her eyes, something that makes the frustration almost look like fondness, and her lips threaten to curl upwards into a smile. Rory's fear is completely gone, replaced instead by awe and _hope,_ burning even brighter than the ships hovering high over their heads. Theta puts his hands in his pockets and lifts his head with the same look the Doctor had given him when he'd had him strapped down in the Naismith mansion. 

_“I don't know what I'd be without that noise.”_

_“I wonder what I'd be, without you.”_

Fondness, gratefulness, hope. And now, now that they have finally seen what he can be without the drums, Koschei sees something else in Theta's gaze. 

He sees _pride._

The only person missing right now is Amy… But Koschei knows his little Amelia Pond. If Amy was here, she would huff and cross her arms and send him _a look._

_“Oh yeah? And what are you going to do, ask them very nicely to leave Earth and the Pandorica alone?”_

Koschei smiles, and focuses on the two he needs to keep alive at the moment, instead of the two he'll bring back when it's safe. 

“I'm going to win,” he proclaims, and once the Cybership zooms away, he hops to their side and beckons them closer, because he doesn't know what kind of surveillance the ships are equipped with and he'd rather not risk going overhead. “But to do that, I need you to fetch me the greatest military machine in the history of the universe, River,” he tells her with a grin, and while she frowns, Rory perks up and takes the Jaguar's key out of his pocket after some shuffling. 

River takes it, meets his eyes again – and grins. 

“Oh, I _know_ that look. What are you planning?” 

“Lend me your Vortex Manipulator, a communicator and that lockpick kit you think you've been hiding so well from me, Doctor Song, and I'll give you a miracle.” 

* * *

As soon as he's done lighting the torches at the feet of the pillars, Rory returns his own to its hole in the wall and turns to the Doctor. He's by the Pandorica, alternating between the screwdriver, the handheld computer, and some of the odd tools River left behind, doing who knows what to the circular pattern engraved on one of the sides. He hops to some of the others, but he's staid mostly on the same one, so Rory assumes they all work the same way, or are connected enough that whatever he does to one will also affect the others. 

Not that he knows _what_ he's trying. Or what a lot of stuff is about. 

Perhaps it's time he started asking. 

“So… What's this got to do with the TARDIS?” he asks tentatively as he steps closer, but the Doctor just grabs for the computer. 

“Nothing, as far as I know.” 

“Semmelweis said the TARDIS exploded in his dream. Could that happen?” he points out, and this time, the Doctor does stop, sending him a look, before focusing back on the computer. 

“Everything _could_ happen, but that doesn't mean it _will.”_

Right. Really useful. Still, if the Doctor thinks the Pandorica is more important now than the odd chance of his beloved ship blowing up, Rory will take it as a good sign. Perhaps preventing the Pandorica's opening is what will keep the TARDIS safe, perhaps, as River mentioned, the whole TARDIS going boom is a metaphor for the Pandorica opening, for everything going _wrong._

If this is really like Pandora's Box, with whatever creature that's inside being the worst thing that could happen to the universe, opening it could very well be the reason for the TARDIS explosion. 

So, one thing at a time. 

“What are you doing now?” he asks, and _that_ is apparently the right question, because the Doctor looks up and actually meets Rory's eyes as he answers. 

“There's forcefield technology inside this box. I'm trying to enhance the signal so it extends all over Stonehenge. Could buy us half an hour.” 

“Will that be enough?” 

The Doctor _doesn't_ look up at that, focused on the computer he's sonicking. 

“It will have to be.” 

… Right. 

Well, the good part is that they have half an hour to try to deal with whatever is in the Pandorica, which _should_ help with the armies amassing in the sky, and River is going to get them a bunch of Romans armed with lightsabers, or something. Hopefully, they'll arrive on time. 

But if they don't… 

Rory reaches into his pocket, hand curling around the velvety box that he had all but forgotten about until he had to give River the Jaguar's key, and takes it out. He still feels that pang of sadness when he looks at it, especially at the ring resting innocently inside, but… 

He won't go telling random people about it, but Rory's a bit of a romantic. A _lot_ of a romantic, actually. He's dreamt about marrying the girl of his dreams and buying a house and a car and having kids, going on picnics on Saturdays, coming from the hospital to hear about his wife's day at her job and how the kids have been doing in school, and arguing about whose turn it is to clean the bathroom even though Rory knows it'll be his again, because she doesn't like cleaning _at all,_ she'd rather make the messes for him to deal with later as she sews her puppets and makes her papier mache boxes to paint blue— 

Yeah, ahem, well. A bit of a romantic, and he wouldn't mind working part-time when the kids are young to have more time to be with them, either. In fact, he would _love_ that, and he's sure he'll be able to, because they've talked about that and A— 

“So, what's between you and River? I mean, with all the flirting and the whole 'Sweetie' and 'Honey' thing…” Rory blurts out as he turns to look at the Doctor again, and it's only when the words are out that he realizes what he just _said._ “I mean – None of my business! Sorry, must be the nerves.” 

Fortunately for Rory's continued health, the Doctor is busy enough with the Pandorica that he doesn't even look up, just snorts as he frowns down at the ladle-like tool in his hand. 

“I told you already, we keep meeting out of order. She has an excellent sense of humor, though. You should've seen the faces of the clerics when we started messing with them,” he answers simply, grinning sharply, and Rory finds himself even more confused now. 

“Is that what the ring is for? A mock wedding?” he questions, and _now_ does the Doctor look up, frowning in confusion— 

And tensing as his eyes lock onto the ring. 

Rory takes a couple steps closer, and the Doctor lowers his tool and, for the first time since they returned to the Pandorica's chamber, he steps away from the box. 

“That's where it went…” the Doctor whispers, half broken and half relieved, and Rory feels _awful_ for taking the ring away – before the alien takes a calming breath and meets Rory's gaze. “No, it's not for a mock wedding. It's a genuine engagement ring of a friend of mine. I'm keeping it safe until we meet again.” 

“Ah, right. I-I'm sorry for having taken it. I found it in 1969 and – It's weird. I feel… I don't know, _something,”_ he answers as best as he can, cradling the ring close and looking down into the diamond as if it held the answers to the universe. 

The Doctor is silent for some long seconds, but when Rory looks up, he sees he isn't angry. Instead, he's looking… _sad,_ almost. _Melancholic,_ perhaps. _Hopeful,_ definitely. 

When he speaks, his voice is low and soft, but no less meaningful or clear for that. 

“People fall out of the world sometimes,” he starts, slowly, though not because he doesn't know how to explain or doesn't think Rory would understand, but rather, as he meets Rory's eyes, he realizes it's because he wants to make sure Rory catches every single word. “But they always leave traces. Little things we can't quite account for. Faces in photographs, luggage, half eaten meals…” he lists – and hesitates. 

Rory doesn't move, doesn't speak, barely dares to breathe, as he sees the battle in the Doctor's eyes, the conflict, the fear, the _pain_ – and, finally, the resolution that has him lift his hands to his neck to tug on the chain hidden under his shirt. 

When it finally comes out fully, Rory lets out an almost soundless tiny gasp. 

“Rings,” the Doctor adds, gaze locked on the silver signet ring at the end of the chain, which he cradles with the most tender care, almost like it was something small and _alive._

Even under the torchlight and the stray moonlight that manages to get in the Underhenge, Rory makes out the green color of the stone inlaid with silver lines that trace out some circular shapes, with smaller concentric circles and lines filling them. 

Gallifreyan. That's a Gallifreyan ring. That is, most likely, the only thing the Doctor has left of his people, of his friends and family, besides the TARDIS. In a war, with the chaos and the fighting, it would've been impossible to save much, especially if the Doctor was out there fighting. 

But the Doctor looks at the ring in his hands, running a finger feather-like over the signet, before turning to the engagement ring in its velvet box, and when he meets Rory's eyes, it's with _hope_ and the hint of a smile. 

Oh, there's sadness there too, but the Doctor's determination has it practically buried away, unwilling to let it hold him down when he could be doing something, _anything,_ to change things. 

“Nothing is ever forgotten, not completely. And if something can be remembered, it can come back,” he tells Rory, who has a hard time swallowing his next breath. 

He feels… God, he _feels._ He doesn't know what or why, but it's so much that, for a moment, he just stands there and tries to remember how to breathe again. 

And then, he manages to put together a small smile to answer the Doctor's and, with the click of the box closing, he finally gives him the engagement ring back. 

“I'm sure you can,” he tells him, and there's also a mess of feeling in the Doctor's eyes when he takes the box and carefully tucks it away into a pocket. 

The signet ring goes down his shirt once more, close to the hearts and hidden from the cruel universe that would dare to take this last thing away like it did his planet and people, and turns back to the Pandorica— 

And around again, this time facing Rory with only determination, no hint of the sadness underneath. 

“Remember that night you flew away with me?” he asks, and Rory finds himself unbalanced almost worse than if someone had literally taken the floor away from under his feet. 

“Of course I do,” he huffs, frowning in both confusion and indignation, because having an almost naked Doctor saunter to him and kiss him in front of all his friends and the rest of the pub was nothing if not unforgettable. 

“Why did you?” 

“Why did I?” 

“Why did you just leave everything behind and come with me? Why are you still here, Rory? With me, in the TARDIS, traveling all across space and time, endangering yourself every second of every day, when you have a home and a family and a job back in Leadworth. Why did you drop your whole life to travel with me?” 

“I didn't!” Rory protests, indignant, feeling a fire light up in his chest that has him straightening to his full height with his fists shaking at his sides. “This is my whole life! Leadworth is my parents and friends and a house and a job, but it isn't a life worth living, not if that means leaving behind – this. Leaving behind this,” he finishes, holding onto his temper by the skin of his teeth and wondering _why_ it's flaring now. “It's… Life in Leadworth, it's missing something. Something I get here, traveling with you. It's like that big house me and my friends used to play around when we were kids… Such a big house, so many empty rooms, with only one woman living there all alone…” he explains, trying to make some sense even if his own thoughts don't make sense to him. 

Because despite the metaphor, this situation isn't like that at all. The moment he thinks about returning to Leadworth, Rory's heart cracks, shrinking so _painfully_ in his chest that he thinks he'll die before he even sets a foot back in town. But traveling with the Doctor, fixing the cracks… _that_ eases the pain Rory hadn't realized was there until he's been forced to confront it now. 

But it doesn't take it away. 

“It bothers you, doesn't it? Realizing that your life doesn't make any sense,” the Doctor whispers, _understanding_ in his eyes, of all things, and Rory— 

Shouts and ducks and runs to hide behind the Pandorica to avoid the laser shots raining on them, the Doctor doing the same around the opposite side. 

“What is that?!” he shouts, pressing against the stone by the Doctor's side. 

“Good news, not a Dalek. Bad news, almost anything else that is not Dalek,” the Doctor answers with a scowl, trying to edge around the corner but jerking back as another red-colored laser blast almost takes his head off. “Small too, and extremely quiet – though it's dusty, maybe it didn't make that much noise. No gears, so not a Cyberman or Chelonian, and likely organic. Not a Sontaran, they would never shoot an enemy from the back, and they wouldn't be quiet. Probably not Terileptil or Atraxi either, we would've heard their atmosphere converters. Raxacoricofallapatorian wouldn't use this kind of laser, and neither would the Nestene, Draconian or the Drahvin. Sycorax and Haemogoth have gone past this kind of technology at this time, Zygon technology is organic and thus incompatible with these blasts and I am tired of hiding behind a rock!” he rants, scowling deeper as he goes on, and leaving Rory so confused that, when the Doctor jumps out from behind the Pandorica to face their attacker, he can only squawk in horror. “Have you never been told to introduce yourself before killing someone?!” he shouts at their attacker before jumping behind one of the pillars to avoid getting shot, sending Rory a wide grin. “Good news! It's a Cyberarm!” 

“A _Cyberwhat?!”_ Rory squeaks, head still reeling from the turn their situation has taken in the last thirty seconds. 

“Arm of a Cyberman. They're a cyborg race that results from the desire to survive, eternal life or simply more power, so no idea where this one originates from. That's the problem with convergent evolution.” 

“And how do we stop it?!” Rory shouts over the blasting lasers, and the Doctor's almost petulant scowl clears as he focuses on the situation once more. 

“If I can get to it, I can deactivate it with the screwdriver. I mean, it's just an arm, no biggie.” 

“An arm with _a gun._ Doesn't it run out of bullets?” 

“What bullets? It's using energy! Probably stored it over who knows how long it's been here, or perhaps it has evolved to, I don't know, process oxygen or something. They keep upgrading on me, it's hard to keep up. They're just so _human_ about that…” the Doctor huffs, trying to peek round the other side of the column but jerking back again. 

“Human? What do you mean, _human?”_ Rory asks, and the Doctor's eyes widen in a way that makes him look like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

“They have been known to evolve from humans. So, you know, stay away from it lest it thinks your arms would be a good replacement for the one that used to be in there, alright?” he answers, grinning sheepishly but with a touch of annoyance as he tries yet again to slip out from behind the pillar without success. 

Uh, yeah, right. Stay away from the flesh-eating cyborg arm. Understood. 

… Wait a second. 

Rory looks around, at the frustrated Doctor backpedaling hurriedly behind the pillar once more as the arm shoots at him – and how it's not shooting _at Rory._

If the Doctor is right, which is likely, then the arm should be focusing on Rory… and thus leaving the Doctor alone. 

… Oh, Hell. This is a _bad_ idea. 

And yet, Rory still takes a deep breath and jumps from behind the Pandorica's protective bulk, _away_ from the Doctor and in sight—uh, in _sensor range_ of the arm. 

“Hey, look at me, I'm a human!” he shouts, berating himself almost instantly because if those are going to be his last words, they're _awful._

One way or another, the robotic hand twitches, moving the arm so that the small gun mounted on the forearm is aiming at Rory now— 

And the Doctor pounces on it with a snarl and an almost deafening whir of the screwdriver – which is sporting a small laser blade that the Doctor uses to cut the gun clean off of the arm. 

“Oh, God. I can't believe I did that,” Rory chokes out, shivering now that the adrenaline of his utterly stupid decision starts to wear off, leaning against a pillar. 

“I can't believe it either! What were you _thinking?!”_ the Doctor shouts at Rory as he struggles against the arm's attempts to writhe out of his grip, deactivating the laser function to try some actual sonic settings instead. 

“I thought that you needed a distraction. And you said it would be looking for human flesh, so…” 

“So, you decided to play _bait?_ Without my consent and supervision? Next time just tell me, and I'll kill you myself and spare you the pain!” he barks, glaring at Rory before the arm spasms once more and forces him to focus on it again. “Do you know what conversion is like, Rory? For this model—will you _die_ already?!—for this model, it's wrapping you up in a Cyber-shell that then modifies your internal organs and brain _with you still alive and conscious!_ Don't _ever_ do that again, do you hear me?!” he snarls, finally slamming the Cyberarm on the ground and sonicking it to stillness. 

Rory swallows, scared and ashamed, and nods. 

“Sorry. I just wanted to help,” he apologizes softly, and the Doctor lets out an explosive huff before allowing his shoulders to drop. 

“And how do you plan to do that if you're dead? I need you _alive,_ Rory. Don't do that again,” the Doctor whispers, looking up at Rory with fear under the steel, and he finally relaxes. 

He worried the Doctor, probably scared him almost as much as he scared himself. And he has a point, how is Rory supposed to help, to get rid of this pain in his chest, if he dies? 

“I won't,” he promises, smiling softly, and the Doctor finally grins back. 

And then something wraps around Rory's ankle and _tugs,_ sending him facedown to the floor. 

The Doctor's eyes widen before he snarls, tensing for the jump – and the Cyberarm in his grip sends a current so strong through him that he arches back with a chocked scream and visible arcs of electricity running all over his body. 

“ _Doctor!”_ Rory shouts, clawing the ground as he tries to drag himself to the— _hopefully—_ unconscious alien, but a second tentacle wrapping around his free ankle distracts him. “Let go, you stupid – head?” 

It _is_ a head, as robotic as the arm, with a slit for a mouth and round black eyes with 'teardrops' on the corners, and handles in place of ears that meet at the top of the head. It has a lot of cables hanging from its neck, and it is those that it's using to wrap around Rory and lash at him, some of them sparking with charge. 

Rory shouts and tries to get free of the Cyberhead's grip, but the damn thing scuttles closer and throws itself at _his_ head so fast that he almost misses catching it from the handles. It's closer to his neck now, and that electricity does _not_ bode well, not after seeing what the Cyberarm did to the Doctor— _please be alive please be alive—_ but Rory freezes. 

A tiny glowing spot is cutting straight down the middle of the head, almost like someone was running a laser through it – and when it pops open, a withered and mummified skull drops on Rory's lap. 

He shouts again when the Cyberhead proceeds to snap its halves open and closed like a macabre mockery of a mouth, the cables wrapping around Rory and tugging him closer and _closer—_

He struggles, eyes locking on the closest pillar, and, with a heave, he twists enough to slam the Cyberhead against the rock with a deafening _clang._ It keeps trying to get at him, but Rory struggles to his feet after a second slam, when the cables loosen their hold, and finally manages to get a good enough angle to hit the Cyberhead hard enough to get it off him. 

It writhes on the floor, but it's more aimless now, more blind flailing of cables than proper grabbing motions, and so Rory takes a moment to try and get his breath back, never taking his eyes off the Cyberhead as it slowly manages to angle itself to stare up at Rory— 

And shoot some kind of small dart at his neck. He takes it out as fast as he can, looking at it to see if it has any of whatever it injected in him left… but there's nothing. There's _literally_ nothing, it's just a metallic dart. 

… Somehow, that doesn't make Rory feel better. 

“You will be assimilated,” the Cyberhead proclaims with the expected mechanical voice, and Rory takes a step back just in case. 

“Yeah, about that, I'll pass, thanks,” he tells it, taking a quick look around to see if there's anything he could use as a weapon, and makes a note about the torch on the wall— 

Gears. Rory can hear gears grinding, rhythmically, like footsteps, just before the rest of the Cyberman appears round a corner. There are nooks on the walls, nothing but rock there, they checked before to make sure there were no hidden entrances, so where was this one hiding? Because, judging by the lack of head and one arm, this is the body whose pieces they've been finding… 

And it's still functional. Functional enough to screw its head back on while Rory tries to make sense of why his sight seems to be distorting, there was _nothing_ in that dart— 

But the Cyberman doesn't care, advancing on Rory even when he manages to grab the torch and swing it at it. It slams onto its empty head with a clang that rattles Rory's bones, but the Cyberman merely stops for a second and then continues on its advances. 

Rory's sight is getting blurrier and blurrier, and the torch is too heavy to hold anymore. It drops with a muted _thud,_ muffled by the dust that covers everything or just not filtering properly through the haze that is falling on Rory, who tries to rush past the Cybermen to whatever exit it came in through, _away_ from the Doctor still unconscious on the ground— 

And slams into a rocky wall. 

“No, no, you're supposed to be… be something… Out, I need out, got to keep the Doctor safe, got to stay alive…” he tells it despite how much his tongue rebels against the thought of speech, and turns as he hears the Cyberman approach. 

Those… Those _are_ doors, aren't they? Hanging from the wall, they look like doors and, when Rory grabs them, they behave like doors too, closing on the Cyberman and hiding Rory from it— 

And rattling, loudly, noisily, and Rory presses against the wall. And then, they go still and silent. 

Why…? Why are they silent? Did it give up? Did the Cyberman give up? Why would it— 

_The Doctor!_

Rory stumbles to the door, tripping on his own two feet – and that's probably the only reason he doesn't get a lightsaber to the eye, to be honest. 

He throws himself back with a shout, crashing into the wall he clings to when his legs turn to jelly, and stares wide-eyed at the red blade that just pierced through the door. Is it blurry because it's a lightsaber, or because Rory's vision is going? 

The moment the doors are pushed open, with the Cyberman stuck inert to one thanks to the lightsaber through its chest, Rory realizes it _is_ his sight blurring. There's a figure standing in front of him, with a wide white hood over its head darkening its face, but Rory's sight is _definitely_ blurring. 

“Who… Who are you?” Rory _thinks_ he asks, but even his own voice sounds distorted as he fights to keep himself upright. 

The figure lowers its hood and Rory sees _red—_

“Hello, stupid.” 

—and then black. 

* * *

When Koschei wakes up, it's to the annoying pins-and-needles feeling of electric charge dispelling from his body, and someone's voice talking over his head. 

Wait… Has he been captured? Where is he— 

_The Pandorica opens._

_“And how do you plan to do that if you're dead? I need you_ alive, _Rory. Don't do that again.”_

“Rory!” he exclaims, jerking upright and startling the couple of New Roman legionnaires guarding him, which he dismisses as soon as he recognizes the uniform and remembers he sent River to fetch them. “Where's Rory?” he shouts, jumping to his feet and following one of them to a hidden alcove by the side of the main chamber when he's signaled to. 

“He's fine, Raggedy Man. Just unconscious,” Amy tells him as he rushes inside, but he still checks over Rory before he allows himself to relax. 

“Yes, yes, he's sedated, that's all. Half an hour, he'll be fine,” he whispers to himself, sighing in relief as he stands up and turns to the New Roman legionnaire that guided him here. “Romans, good. Just what I asked for. Good job, River. How many?” he asks him as he turns to look at the chamber, with the ridiculous amount of Cyberweapons on the wall under all the dust. 

“Fifty legionnaires up top, volunteers. What about that thing?” Amy answers before pointing at the skewered Cyberman, but Koschei is too busy checking the weapons to see if they're still functional. 

“Fifty? You're not exactly a legion,” he scoffs, running his screwdriver over the guns to check on the charge and the stability of their power source. 

Who knows how long they've been down here? If the power cells have deteriorated, they could either snuff themselves out at the slightest movement or explode. It's a fifty-fifty chance, really. 

“Oh, River was very persuasive, you know her. But it's a tough sell,” Amy answers with an audible eyeroll, as the legionnaire returns to the main chamber. 

“Yes, I know that, Amelia. It isn't exactly subtle, no one could miss that. But we need everything we can get,” he chastises, and once he gets the report from the screwdriver showing the weapons are stable, he pockets it and grabs a couple of the rifles. “Right, Cyberweapons. This is a sentry box, so the one-armed wonder here was a sentry,” he starts, thumping the dead Cyberman with one of the rifles as he takes a closer look at the damage on its armor and the savage and messy way the arm—and head, now that he takes a closer look—were ripped off of it. “Definitely got itself chopped up millennia ago, probably by the locals. Picts, Celts, maybe Romans, even. Old Romans. And now the New Romans finished the job, good old irony,” he huffs with a grin, resting the rifles on his shoulders as he rocks on his feet. 

Oh, he wishes it had been _him_ the one to finish the Cyberman off, made it pay for trying to assimilate Rory, but this is almost as good. 

“Raggedy Man,” Amy calls again, with that amused yet impatient tone that he has learned tends to mean he's missing something or ignoring obvious human facts. 

Whatever is in the Pandorica, and up in space, is not human, so Koschei just shrugs her off. 

“Shush, I'm thinking. If there's a Cyberman on guard, that means whatever is in the Pandorica is either a Cyberweapon or something that could _really_ hurt a Cyberman. Easy backup too, it would just need to snatch up a lost tourist or wannabe delinquent every couple centuries to replace the human bits. But Cybermen wouldn't lock up one of their own, they would assimilate the tech and recycle the offender, and the Cybermen themselves are a weapon of mass destruction _as a unit,_ not individually. No, Cybermen improve the individual to empower the collective, so it can't be a Cyberweapon in the Pandorica. Cybermen known enemies would be the Daleks, maybe the Sontarans and the Rutans and some other species, but there's _no way_ they have a whole species or planet stuck in there. That's no Genesis Ark,” he scoffs, pacing as he glares from the Cyberman to the Pandorica. “But Cybermen were here _before_ the new ones up in the sky. Maybe they're a different breed? These are new, maybe those overhead are Mondasian? Telosian? Ugh, I'm missing something, something obvious, something _big._ It's bound to be right in my face, I can feel it!” 

“Yeah, I think it is,” Amy grins, rolling her eyes. 

“No, focus. Weapons first, headache later,” he tells himself, shaking his head and stepping out of the sentry box to deliver the Cyberweapons to the New Romans while Amy laughs at his back— 

Wait a moment… 

Koschei drops the weapons by a pillar and turns around, wide-eyed, and yes. Amy. Amelia Pond. Standing in the sentry box, hands on her hips, grin on her lips and joy in her eyes. She's dressed in a New Roman centurion uniform, fashioned after classic Roman armor and with a furry white cape with a large hood that is now resting against her back. Her hair is as red as the last time he saw it, held out of her face with a thin brown band, but falling on the same waves as it did before. She has a sheath on her hip, empty at the moment since the laser gladius is still stuck in the Cyberman's chest. 

_Amy,_ not Theta, and dressed in a New Roman Empire uniform. 

Slowly, he approaches, trying not to let hope grow despite how much he _wants_ this to be true. Prisoner Zero had gone through a crack, Lamia and her daughters had gone through a crack… Just because Laestrygon and the clerics had been erased, it doesn't mean— 

“Amy?” 

“Hello, Raggedy Man. You're late,” she tells him when he's close enough, and before Koschei can react, she engulfs him in a tight hug. 

Warm. _Solid._

“You're here,” he whispers, tremulously lifting his hands to rest on her back—solid, warm, shivering as she presses her face into his neck and her arms tighten around him. 

“Of course I am. I told you, you won't get rid of me that easily.” 

And Koschei takes in a ragged breath and finally hugs her back as tightly as he can without hurting her. 

She's back, _she's back—_

“How?” he croaks six seconds later, finally pulling away from her, and decides not to comment on the redness around her eyes to avoid her pointing out his own. 

“I don't know, it's kind of fuzzy. One moment I was with you in the room where we found Jenny, with the crack, and Boyce was aiming a gun at you. The next, there's this awful pain in my chest and Rory is screaming and you're – you were smiling at me. You were smiling, and I knew I was going to die, but I wasn't scared,” she explains with a tearful smile, and Koschei has to practically force his next breath through the knot in his throat, feeling all that pain that had wrecked him then trying to make a reappearance despite Amy standing in front of him safe and sound. “I remembered what you said, back in Cardiff, about how you – how you would smile at a girl you really cared about when she died, so she wouldn't be scared, and… I wasn't. And then I woke up here, healthy, not even a scar, and with my head full of New Roman stuff. As a Roman Centurion, Chief of Security for the Chariot Fair. Care to explain?” 

The ground shakes, and Koschei is _grateful._

Amy is alive, Amy is _herself,_ Amy is _here._ She never went away, she just, what, fell through the crack and reincarnated, or something? Did her mind fall into a spatial genetic clone? Is this another instance of spatial genetic multiplicity, but with Amy's mind clinging to life and, powered by the crack, grabbing and replacing the mind of her duplicate? This Amy could be a descendant of his Amy, or she could have nothing to do with his Ponds but have a close enough mental print that Amy's mind could replace this one and is he actually making stuff up to justify Amy's presence here while the Doctor is still dead? 

_No, of course not, don't be stupid._

So, one problem at a time. Amy is here, rejoice, think about the specifics later. The Pandorica and the army amassing over their heads come first. 

… Especially when the Pandorica's circular patterns are glowing green and _moving._

“What is it? What's happening?” Amy asks as she rushes into the main chamber after him, laser gladius back in its sheath, staring with wide-eyed wonder and wariness both. 

“The final phase. It's opening,” Koschei whispers, shivering, as he runs his screwdriver over it, before steeling himself with a hiss. “Amelia, you've seen what awaits outside. Rally your troops, arrange a defense perimeter. They'll try to get in, actively this time, especially the Cybermen—they're like the one you nailed to the door—if they realize their sentry is offline, but also the Daleks and who knows what else. You said your head is full of Roman stuff? Then use that Roman stuff and _stay alive,”_ he orders her, grabbing his tools and trying to find a way, _any_ way, to stop the Pandorica, though he grabs Amy's arm when she makes to rush past him and meets her eyes. “If you get yourself killed _again,_ young lady, I'm going to bring you back and kill you _myself,”_ he threatens, and Amelia has the nerve to smile, larger and brighter than ever. 

“Right back at you, Raggedy Man. And keep an eye on my stupid fiancé for a bit longer, will you? I need him in one piece for our wedding.” 

Koschei grumbles at that and Amelia laughs – but she still gives him one last hug before she turns to her troops and organizes them like the Centurion she apparently is. 

Little Amelia Pond, the princess who saved knights, turned into a New Roman Centurion. 

_“Move away from the light. Move! If it touches you, you'll be wiped from history. We need to get to the TARDIS,_ now!” _he orders, squeezing the unnaturally—_ nonononono— _cold hands one last time before grabbing the handkerchief-wrapped thing he salvaged from the crack and finally standing up and moving away from Amy._

 _“No! I'm not leaving her!_ You have to help her!” _Rory snarls, struggling even more to the point Vastra is starting to look troubled as she tries to wrestle him away from the body on the ground, which is starting to be enveloped by tendrils of light that make Koschei's memories of little Amelia split into different Could've Been before being sucked into Neverwere._

… He's been wrong before, horrifyingly so. At least this once, he'll be _glad_ if that was the case. 

Still, Pandorica first. Anything else will be a moot point if the armies outside or the Pandorica's beast kill them before he can figure out _how_ Amelia is back and if that means the Doctor is somewhere out there too, despite the fact his mind is as achingly empty as it has been since that Christmas Day at the Naismith Mansion. 

He's trying to restore the time stops, the easiest bit at the moment, to get them some more time when the communicator beeps and he smushes it against his ear with the help of his shoulder. 

::You're surrounded. Have you got a plan?:: River asks from the other side, and Koschei is sure that if this was a slightly inferior piece of tech, he would be able to hear the engines of all the ships that must be descending on Stonehenge at the moment. 

At least the forcefield is still holding up, though it doesn't have much longer left… for now. 

“Yes,” he answers simply, without doubt, because he has some Romans here to buy them time, and Amy is back, and even if he can't stop the Pandorica from opening he can always time lock it until the threat of obliteration-by-all-of-the-most-terrifying-races-of-the-universe is over. “Now hurry up and get the TARDIS here. I need equipment,” he tells her, and can practically _hear_ her eyeroll in the soft huff she answers with. 

He ends the connection and pockets the computer, jumping to his feet to try and sonic the time stop back in place _before_ it cracks completely open— 

And ends face to face with the center of the Pandorica's lock. 

“What are you?” he asks yet again, resting a hand in the middle of the now far more reduced circle as all the locks swirl open. “They're all here, all of them, all for you,” he tells it, hearing the ships moving now that they are low enough over their heads, but no shots are being fired, not _yet._ “What could you possibly be?” 

As before, there's no answer, not even the slightest twitch of a consciousness awakening from eons of slumber, or anything as equally expected. Only the subsonic thrum of engines making his bones quiver and the drone of uncountable spaceships descending on them and the whir of locks falling open under his hands and feelers— 

He feels _helpless._

_The Daleks are coming! The Emperor is coming! Guard the Cruciform!_

_That's what they shout, rushing all around as they get to defensive positions, as they try to repair the shields faster than they're falling, as they hurry to their remaining turrets and scream as they're blown up—_

_The Master stumbles as another blast rocks the Cruciform, grabbing onto the TARDIS' door to avoid falling on his face, and looks around with wide-eyed horror._

_He can smell burnt flesh and the spicy tang of artron energy burning in a regeneration, can feel the subsonic thrum of engines making his bones quiver and the drone of uncountable spaceships descending on them and the whir of a lock falling open under his hands and feelers as the TARDIS detects his fear and lets its doors open in answer to his wordless plea—_

_Runrunrunrun runrunrunrun runrunrunrun runrunrunrun—_

Koschei snarls and slams his fists on the Pandorica, pushing down the beat of his hearts and the memory of that last moment of the Time War— 

No. No, that wasn't the last moment of the Time War he lived through. 

_“The final act of your life is murder. But which one of us?” the Lord President asks, still calm, still composed, and the drums just keep beating louder and_ louder— 

_The Doctor turns once more, all of himself bared and flaring and_ this _is the Oncoming Storm, the Bringer of Darkness, the Destroyer of Worlds._

_“Get out of the way.”_

“I don't care,” he hisses at the Pandorica, at the monster within, as he presses so close to it that his lips are practically touching stone as he speaks. “I don't _care_ who you are, or what you are. _I've seen worse._ I've seen far worse than whatever goblin, trickster, _warrior_ you are. I don't care how much blood stains your hands, _mine are bloodier._ And you are not the most feared being in all the cosmos – you have been _forgotten._ There's something scarier, something _worse_ than whatever you may be. _I have seen it,”_ he snarls, clawing at the stone one last time – and pushing away, snarl replaced by realization as he stares at the Pandorica and its opening locks. “… And so have they.” 

Because that's right, isn't it? He doesn't know whatever the Pandorica's beast might be, but it can't be so bad if it has fallen into oblivion, regardless of how long it has been. The Weeping Angels are believed a legend by many, but they're still remembered. The Daleks, before the Paradigm ones came back, were also feared but thought gone. So are the Time Lords, and the Racnoss, and the Yssgaroth – but not the Pandorica's _Imp._

And regardless of how scared of the Pandorica the forces overhead are, there is one being they fear _more._

“Koschei?” Theta calls meekly at his back, nervous and worried, but Koschei takes another breath as he ponders that thought, feeling his throat dry and his chest constrict. “Koschei, please, talk to me. Let me _help.”_

“This is why,” he whispers, and thinks he hears Theta take a step closer despite the dust on the ground and his nature as an incorporeal ghost-memory-psychic imprint. 

“What is why? What is the why? Koschei, please, I don't like what you're thinking. _Please,_ let me _help._ Let's talk this out, we can figure something out together—” 

“ _This_ is why. Prisoner Zero. River. Jack. Rory's chronocartography. This is why I'm here, why I've been coming here all along.” 

“No!” Theta exclaims, and this time, Koschei does turn around to see his fear and ire battling in his pale brown eyes. “No, there has to be another answer, another solution! Koschei, this – this is madness!” 

He can't help it. At those words, Koschei snorts and grins. 

“And you're really surprised?” 

“ _Master!”_

“No. Not anymore,” he whispers, his grin turning to a sadder yet far more sincere smile. “Never again.” 

“You can't! If you do this… If you do it, there's no going back. Why don't you just, you know, tell them and that's it?” he pleads, but Koschei needs only to glance at the Pandorica over his shoulder for the ghost to catch up. “We don't know if it will be able to notice the difference!” 

“We don't know that it won't. Something of that reputation can very well come from the Dark Times, or the Last Great Time War. You saw what happened with the Neverwere. I – _We_ can't risk it. Not this time,” he answers, firm, resolution spreading through his dimensions and feelers as he unfolds and stretches in preparation for what comes next. 

Theta looks defeated, _scared,_ for a moment, before he meets Koschei's eyes and takes in a ragged breath. 

“Oh, I never meant… I'm sure _he_ never meant for you to do this, for things to end like… like _this,”_ he whimpers, and the Time Lord smiles. “You promised Amy you'd _stay alive,”_ he reminds him as his last attempt to convince him otherwise, but it's too late. 

“I didn't.” 

And he reaches deep into his core and _twists._

* * *

Her legionnaires are spread out in a defensive formation, laser gladius and electro-pulse plumbata on their belts, forcefield shields and energy crossbows in hand, while a few of them hold back with their electro-pulse hastae to serve as their first line of defense. They also have some EMP grenades that Amy is pretty sure they can use when the Daleks or the Cybermen attack, to deactivate their armors, though she fears they might be ready for those. If only they could have some onagers to target the ships before they came down… 

But they were meant to be security, Amy is not a _soldier._ She's a centurion, and she's trained for war, but she was prepared to act as security detail for a _Chariot Fair. _Who would attack a Chariot Fair with warships? Besides, the stadium itself has its defensive measures against a lot of what they might be facing now, but out here…__

____

____

Amy trusts the Doctor, she knows he'll come through… but this time, she's not sure _how._

Which is why she orders her legionnaires into formation when she hears the rhythmic beat – and almost jumps out of her skin when the first sound explodes out of _nowhere._

It takes her embarrassingly long to recognize what is happening here, which she chalks to her brain being full of 12010 music, but even so, it's only when the riff starts again that she puts words to the sounds. 

“Is that _Back in Black?”_ she asks the first legionnaire she makes eye contact with, but she shrugs with a completely lost expression in her face. 

“What is back in black? Is it some kind of code?” another asks, but he's immediately answered when the lyrics start blasting from the same unknown speakers as the music. 

_Back in black_  
_I hit the sack_  
_I've been too long, I'm glad to be back_  
_Yes, I'm let loose_  
_From the noose_  
_That's kept me hanging about_  
_I've been looking at the sky_  
_'Cause it's gettin' me high_  
_Forget the hearse 'cause I never die_  
_I got nine lives_  
_Cat's eyes_  
_Abusin' every one of them and running wild_  


_'Cause I'm back!_

“What. In the name. _Of the Gods?!”_ one of her legionnaires squeaks, but Amy grins widely as she stares up at the sky, seeing the ships slowing down almost tentatively, as if they can't make sense of what is going on any more than Amy and her legionnaires. 

_Yes, I'm back_  
_Well, I'm back_  
_Yes, I'm back_  
_Well, I'm baaaaack, baaaaack_  


“He's doing it!” she laughs when a couple of the ships zoom back higher, getting out of whatever line of fire they think they're in, and some of her legionnaires relax alongside her – before they see some others come _closer,_ weapons primed to eliminate the unknown threat before it can do worse than blast some AC/DC at them. “Raggedy Man, come on, it's time for the next step…” 

_Well, I'm back in black—_

“Yes, the Doctor's back!” a voice booms over the last line of the chorus, and almost all spaceships renew their buzzing while those armed change their guns for floodlights that they immediately direct to the altar stone at Amy's back— 

And the Raggedy Man standing over it, grinning widely and with River's portable computer up to his lips as if it was a microphone. His coat flaps slightly with the wind caused by all the spaceships rushing overhead, and their lights help Amy see the one thing that is different from the alien she left downstairs. 

He's wearing a TARDIS-blue shirt instead of his burgundy sweater, and there's text on it. 

_Keep Calm and Run for Your Life_

Amy recognizes it as the souvenir she got for Rory in Cardiff—she herself bought an _I'm with Stupid_ shirt—but she has to admit it fits _a lot better_ on the Doctor. 

Wait, did he just say—? 

“And he's ready to see you all now! Daleks! Cybermen! Sontaran! Atraxi! And all you other idiots that keep buzzing around while I. Am. _Talking!”_ he roars, and the ships practically _freeze_ in the middle of their flight, so quickly do they still as they hear the note of anger in _the Doctor's_ voice. “There you go! Much better, isn't it? Save your reserves, you'll need it at the end of the night. Because I know what you're here for, you all want the Pandorica, but guess what? _I_ have the Pandorica. But lucky you, I don't want it! So, I'll be nice and just and give you all an equal opportunity chance to get it in a civilized manner – with an auction. And since we all have different ways to measure value, let's stick to one you _all_ can understand. The starting bid for the Pandorica is the fleet orbiting Earth tonight. Who wants to bet the rest of their fleet on top of this one? Or their planet? I'm not picky, you know that. Remember every black day the Doctor ever stopped you?” he asks almost innocently, grin sharpening as he waits for a second for an answer that never comes, before gesturing at the spaceships. “And here we are, ready to go again, you and me, with your silly little spaceships and silly little guns, while I have no plan, no backup, no weapons worth a damn… _and nothing to lose!_ So… Who wants to go first?” he asks softly with a huge grin, opening his arms welcomingly— 

And the spaceships, _all_ the spaceships, Cybermen and Atraxi and _Daleks_ alike, _retreat._

As the spaceship lights fade and the stars come back, Amy can't help but look at the man standing atop the altar rock, the man who dared _the universe_ to attack him with nothing but a name and a confident grin _and won…_ and if she feels like a seven-and-a-half-year-old holding onto the hand of the ragged stranger that'll fix the crack on her wall, no one will ever know. 

“Yeah, that's what I thought,” the Time Lord snorts, pocketing the computer before hopping off the altar and to Amy's side, eyes and grin alight with pride and hope. “That will buy us half an hour until they stop squabbling. Better get to work on the Pandorica front, right, Amy?” 

“Doctor?” she says softly, more of a question than a call, and the alien reads her wide-eyed expression and tentative tone correctly, dropping the grin for a _joyful_ smile. 

“Hello, Amy. My name’s the Doctor. It's _fantastic_ to meet you.” 

Amy gulps, tries to find words – and finally decides that words are overrated and engulfs the Doctor into a tight hug instead. 

“Hi. It's great to meet you too,” she laughs into his ear, voice somewhat wet, but he chuckles and squeezes her warmly in return. “You are _really_ late, Doctor.” 

“Wizards are always late, aren't they?” he asks as answer, and Amy lets out a bark of laughter again before finally pulling away. 

He's still her Raggedy Doctor, still that blond Saxon face and witty quips and indescribable eyes and sharp smirk, but somehow, he seems _more_ now. Taller, stronger, more _here_ than he's been since he fell on her shed 12000 or 14 years ago, depending on who asks. 

The Doctor is back. 

She orders her legionnaires to keep up their defenses and to warn her if the spaceships return, grinning widely all the while, before following the Doctor to the Pandorica once more. 

“Well, you said half an hour. What do we do now?” she asks him as he picks up his tools once more. 

“You keep an eye out for them, I stop whatever's in this box getting out, and then everyone goes home,” he answers simply enough with a grin. “Is there anything in the year 12010 that Roman Amy would like to stay for, or can we get to that wedding I've been hearing so much about?” 

“Wedding, straight away. Think I can get married in my armor? It's definitely hotter than the wedding dress,” she answers with a sharp grin, and he snorts – and goes serious as he glances over her shoulder. 

“Amy, I'm sorry. You're going to have to be brave now,” he tells her, and Amy fears turning around— 

It isn't necessary. Before she can fully process the Doctor's words, Rory walks past her rubbing his head, going straight for the Doctor. 

He's awake. Her stupid fiancé is finally _awake._ Oh, Amy can't wait until he turns around and sees her in her centurion armor, finally reunited after who knows how long they spent apart from Rory's point of view— 

“Ow… I feel like my head's about to explode…” he groans at the Doctor, and while Amy's wide smile falters, she decides to chalk it to whatever sedative he was dosed with and is still wreaking havoc in his brain. 

“Open your mouth, look at the ceiling… There you go, just your basic knock-out drug. Get some fresh air, it'll clear your head and you'll be back to yourself in no time,” the Doctor prescribes after a look, cheerful and patting Rory's shoulder reassuringly. 

Amy's smile softens. Here they are, her boys, getting along and looking after each other. Oh, she _knew_ the Doctor would look after Rory, even before he became the Doctor again, and that Rory would look after her Raggedy Man, but it's still nice to see she's right. 

“Is it safe up there?” Rory asks tentatively, rubbing his head again and looking at the Doctor warily, but the alien just waves a hand dismissingly, still grinning. 

“Not remotely, but it's fresh. Now, shoo, Doctor's orders,” he chirps, going as far as to make shooing motions, and Rory rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, sure. Wait, _Doctor's_ orders?” he repeats, doing a doubletake, and Amy snorts softly, muffling the sound under a hand. 

“Pay attention,” the Doctor chastises without bite and with an eyeroll, but drops the mockery a moment later to give Rory a fond grin. “Hello, Nurse Williams. I'm the Doctor.” 

“Uh… Did you get—” 

“I did _not_ get bitten by a Neverwere, Rory! They don't _bite,_ that's anatomically incorrect!” he huffs, throwing his hands up, and Amy laughs at that while Rory blinks owlishly. 

“I was going to ask if you got over your phobia of being called Doctor, but now that you mention it…” he explains softly, and the Doctor lets his head drop in defeat for a second, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“No, I did _not_ get attacked by a Neverwere, seriously. And you could say that I finally figured out a couple of things that made me realize that I was wrong. _This_ face is the Doctor's face,” he explains with a grin once more, proud yet calm. 

“If you say so, _Doctor…”_ Rory answers with a wider grin than he probably wants, before grimacing and rubbing his head again. “Alright, fresh air, Doctor's orders. Don't do anything I wouldn't do while I'm out,” he tells the Doctor as he turns around, towards the stairs – and towards Amy, his eyes widening in surprise as she grins at him— “Oh, you're the one with the – with the lightsaber, wasn't it? I mean, I remember the hair, but my sight was really blurry then, so I could be mistaken…” 

“No. No, you're… I'm – I'm the one with the lightsaber,” Amy stammers more in surprise than in a conscious choice, and Rory gives her a grateful smile. 

“Well, thanks for that. Nice lightsaber,” he tells her before stepping past her and to the stairs without a look back. “Get some air, get down, easy enough, don't get killed by a headless Cyberman…” 

“My legionnaires are up there. They'll look after you,” Amy calls after Rory, once more blurting the words out without thought as she feels her heart break in her chest. 

Rory doesn't even turn, waving a hand. 

“Good, thanks. Good old Romans… Uh, _new_ Romans…” 

And with that, he's gone. 

Amy takes a breath as deep as she can with the knot in her throat, and feels the Doctor's arm wrap around her shoulders a second later. 

“How can he not remember me?” she manages to choke out, dropping her head on his shoulder, and the Doctor rests his cheek atop her head. 

“Because you never existed.” 

“But I did… I did, I just fell somewhere else, like Prisoner Zero… I died and then I woke up here, a Roman with my head full of Roman stuff and the memories of a Roman life. But I knew it hadn't been a dream, you were real, _Rory_ was real, and you would come find me as soon as you could… So, when I heard the staff talk about the visitors, the humanoid with the blond hair who turned out to be Caesar, going to visit Cleopatra with his assistant…” she whimpers, pushing back to look at the Doctor straight on with the same desperation burning deep inside her. “How can Rory not remember me? He's a time traveler too, this isn't like with the clerics in the _Byzantium._ How can Rory have forgotten me? What are those cracks?” 

“They're cracks in time,” the Doctor explains softly, serious and with both worry and determination deep in his eyes. “There's going to be a huge explosion in the past, on one particular day. And every other moment in history is cracking around it. They're everywhere now, and those who get too close to them fall right out of the universe. It's like they were never born.” 

“But I ended up here! I wasn't erased, I was just displaced!” Amy protests, clinging onto whatever she can to keep panic and the tears stinging in her eyes at bay. 

“I don't know how that happened, Amy. It shouldn't have.” 

“So, he won't ever remember me…” she whispers as it crashes down on her, looking down so the Doctor won't see her tears. 

“Oh, shut up,” the Doctor chastises as he tilts her head up with a couple fingers under her chin, wiping the tears away with his free hand before he puts it in a pocket— “Less self-pity and more action, Amelia. Go get your fiancé back,” he orders as he hands her a small velvet box. 

Eyes wide once more, Amy picks it up and opens it to make sure – and her engagement ring glares up at her from its cushion. 

“But… how?” she whispers, and the Doctor— 

The Doctor snorts, putting his hands in his pockets and rocking with the motion. 

“Are you seriously asking me for romantic advice? About _your fiancé?_ Because I'd say just kiss him, that worked out for me,” he explains with a mocking grin, though he sobers before Amy can do more than glare at him. “There's something about the universe that you need to understand, Amelia, and that is that it's big. It's vast and complicated and ridiculous, and sometimes, very rarely, impossible things just happen and we call them miracles. But that's just the theory. In 1350 years, I haven't seen one yet. The one thing I _have_ seen is people doing things, impossible and ridiculous things that should have _never_ worked but that did, and _then_ they call it miracles. But me… I call them _stubbornness._ And you, Amelia Pond, the little girl who made a hopeless alien see things weren't hopeless anymore… You're _the most stubborn human_ I've ever met,” he explains with a soft smile, and this time, the tears pricking at Amy's eyes aren't sad. “Go get your husband back, Amy, before he wanders off and right into trouble.” 

Amy snorts, and she's about to say something about how Rory _never_ wanders off, when the Raggedy Man lifts an eyebrow with _a look._

… Rory _did_ chase after Prisoner Zero's many forms all alone, even though he didn't know back then just in how much danger he was getting in. _And_ he did follow the Doctor to the TARDIS _after_ meeting him and knowing he _is_ trouble. 

“I – better get going now.” 

“You do that,” the Doctor answers with a grin, and Amy pokes him in the forehead before running out with his _oi!_ chasing after her. 

She checks with her second-in-command before finding Rory, to make sure the spaceships have really stayed away and nothing has tried to sneak up on them, and to send them down for the Cyberweapons to prepare in case of attack. But then, she goes, feeling giddy and with the same butterflies-in-her-stomach feeling she got when she realized Rory _was_ in love with her – or the one that had her rolling nervously in bed before the Doctor reappeared into her life two years after the Atraxi. The night before her wedding. 

A wedding they _can_ have now, if she manages to make Rory remember her – _them._

Like the Doctor said, she is _not_ going to give up on that. She will try until Rory remembers, no other option. 

He's sitting on a fallen tree just at the edge of the lighted up area, wrapped in what looks like one of her legionnaire's capes, fuzzy and off-white, and staring into the distance at the lights from the stadium, seemingly lost in thought… or maybe still confused or whatever from the sedative. 

“Are you okay?” she asks straightforwardly, though she's still too nervous to sit down next to him. 

Next to Rory. Her fiancé. Who doesn't remember her. 

God, this has to be the _first_ time in their life that she's been nervous around Rory… Not even when they first started dating, _actually_ dating, was she nervous. Then again, Rory was nervous enough for the two of them, so Amy always relaxed and let out a joke for Rory to relax too, and everything was alright again. 

Rory startles at her voice, blinking back to the present, and Amy can only fight back a smile at his wide-eyed _adorable_ face. Her stupid Rory… 

“What…? Oh, hi, sorry, I just… Yes, I'm fine. Did the Doctor send you? It's fine, he's a worrywart. But, ah, don't tell him I said that,” he answers stutteringly, blushing and then paling in quick succession. 

“It'll be our secret,” Amy answers with a grin, finally sitting down, and when Rory gives her a tentative smile, she feels herself relax like it was just another one of their dates – except for the cape. “I see you got a blanket. Who gave you that?” she asks as nonchalantly as she can, though the jealousy she feels igniting in her stomach is far stronger than she thought possible. 

Maybe it's because she had never had reason to be jealous before. Rory was in love with her since _forever._ So, when they finally started dating, Amy _knew_ Rory would never look at anyone else the way he looked at Amy. 

But he doesn't remember her now. And even though Amy never thought she could love Rory like this until she realized Rory loved her, she finds herself unwilling now to lose him _again._

Never again. 

“One of the ladies,” he answers with a shrug, and Amy feels her jealousy _flare._

She glances at her legionnaires to try and see which one of them is missing her cape, because there are a couple of them who don't like men that way and it would douse Amy's jealousy, but _she can't see her._

So, she asks. 

“Which one?” 

“Just one of them. Does it matter?” he asks with curiosity this time, and Amy realizes how she sounds and decides to drop it before _he_ notices it too and decides to be all smug about it when he remembers her. 

“No. No, forget her. _It!_ Forget it,” she stammers in true Rory fashion, blushing, but it seems _that_ catches his attention, as he finally turns to her fully with a small smile on his lips. 

… Was he always this handsome? Yes, yes, of course, must be the starlight. 

“What's your name?” he asks softly, almost tentatively, and having his attention again, so completely and intensely, somehow makes her relax and smile once more. 

He's Rory, lack of memories or not. How could _Amy_ forget that? 

“I'm Amy,” she answers, feeling seven again – until she sees a tear make its way down Rory's cheek. “What's wrong?” she asks as she reaches for his face, wiping the tear away despite how he leans back slightly with a flush on his cheeks. 

“N-Nothing! It must be all that dust from the Underhenge. Or a side-effect of the Cyberman's sedative, or something… Maybe I should have the Doctor check me again,” he explains with a grin, huffing a laugh and startling at the sound. “I'm… happy. Why am I happy?” he asks softly, confused, and Amy can't help but smile with hope replacing her jealousy in warming up her chest. 

“Because it's me,” she whispers, cradling his cheek with one hand as she looks into his bright eyes. “Rory, it's me, it's Amy.” 

He reaches up to cover her hand with his – and then jerks away, standing up somehow without tripping over either the discarded cape or his own two feet. 

“I-I don't know why I did that! I don't know you!” he squeaks, but Amy can't stop smiling as she stands up right after him, gesturing to herself. 

“You do! You know you do. It's me, stupid.” 

“Why am I _crying?”_ he asks again, scared and confused at the same time, but when Amy approaches, he doesn't move back. 

“Because you remember me. I came back. You're crying because you remember me,” Amy repeats again, softly, trying to get through his skull and not let hope get ahead of herself. 

… Then again, maybe the Doctor is right and a kiss would— 

A high-pitched noise pierces her ears and Amy's world goes black. 

_Initiating startup sequence. Starting… Startup sequence complete. Unit 2606 operative. Assemble at the Pandorica._

Assemble at the Pandorica, yes, Unit 2606 will assemble at— 

“—you alright? Hey, look at me, come on – Oh, I don't like that look…” the human is saying as he forces its head to face him, liquid residue staining his cheeks and – his hands – warm on it – on her— 

“No…” it— _she—_ it speaks— “ _No!” she_ shouts, bending over despite how that makes her joints grind as her programming screams at her to _move._ “No, please, _no!_ I'm not going, I'm Amy, I'm _not going!”_ she screams, and she doesn't know if she's crying or if she only _thinks_ she's crying. 

Rory had moved away at her sudden movement, but he's here again, trying to help, and she feels the impulse in her head to _kill the inferior lifeform—_

“Listen to me. You have to run. You have to—” _—get to the Doctor,_ part of her wants to say, but she knows from the compulsion urging her to _move_ that it isn't safe even with the Doctor. “—you have to get as far away from here as you can. I'm a _thing!”_ she screams, and it _hurts_ in a way beyond the urge to leave or the grinding of her joints trying to move against her will. “I'll kill you… Just _go!”_

_Go, go, go go go gogogogogo—_

No, she can't listen to that, she can't— 

“ _Please,_ I don't want to go! I'm Amy! I'm – I'm…” 

“Pond.” 

Amy jerks her head up, somehow hearing that word over the compulsion in her brain, to find herself on her knees on the ground with Rory in front of her. 

Did Rory…? 

“Amy Pond, from Leadworth. My girlfriend – my _fiancée._ How could I ever forget you?” he whispers, and when _she_ jerks away this time, Rory is quick to follow and grab her arms. 

“Rory, you've got to run. I can't hold on. I'm going…” she begs, but Rory doesn't let go, somehow stronger than the compulsion. 

“You are Amy Pond and you aren't going anywhere ever again. And neither am I,” he proclaims, and Amy lets out a sob. “That's what the ring is for. Remember the ring? I'd never let you wear it in case you lost it,” he tells her with a sheepish grin, and Amy somehow manages to muffle the voice in her head long enough to remember what he's talking about. 

“The Doctor gave it to me,” she chokes out, and when Rory smiles, it almost feels like she can move easier. 

“Show it to me. Show me the ring,” he tells her, and miraculously enough, she manages to do as told and take out the velvet box and open it to show Rory. “There it is. You remember. This is you, and you are staying,” he continues, but Amy feels something change, that voice shouting _killkillkill_ growing stronger as he takes the ring and one of her hands to slip it on her finger— “Amelia Pond. Will you marry me?” 

The voice in Amy's head cuts off as her hand slips out of Rory’s – and Rory chokes, jerking, eyes wide and grip tightening before going slack— 

“ _No…”_ Amy whimpers as Rory hugs her close with waning strength, uncaring about her gun-hand digging into his hip as his legs fail him and he falls back— “ _ **NO!”**_

But Rory doesn't answer, hanging from her arms with unblinking eyes staring blankly at the stars overhead. 

This time, as she screams her grief out, Amy feels the tears fall and blur the explosions of light all around them. 

* * *

“I – better get going now.” 

“You do that,” the Doctor answers with a grin, and Amy pokes him in the forehead before running out with his _oi!_ chasing after her. 

Rubbing the offended spot with a huff, he decides to let her go. She has a difficult enough task in front of her. 

As does he, truth be told. Stopping the Pandorica from opening will be hard enough, even with the 'break' from all the other idiots overhead. But if anyone can do it, it's the Doctor. 

… It's still so _strange,_ referring to himself as that. But that's who he is now, for as long as he keeps this face. The Doctor. 

He aches all over, especially at his core, after restructuring his _self_ from _Koschei_ to _the Doctor,_ far more than he remembers it being when he'd taken the name _the Master._ Then again, he never thought to ask anyone who changed their name how that felt, and it isn't like they covered that specific topic in Metabolic Control. Oh, he knows the theory, and he knows, from the Academy and from doing it himself, that taking a name, rearranging one's _self_ into the new being that the name describes, hurts on some level or another. But _Skaro ablaze,_ no one said doing it _again_ would hurt this much. 

It could be because of his current body. After all, it isn't a 'born' Time Lord body, and it had to take an extra dose of regeneration energy to stabilize, so perhaps it isn't as 'healed' as he thought before. It's been a bit banged up since then, what with the Daleks shooting at him and the Cyberarm electrocuting him not half an hour ago, so that could be it too. 

… Then again, he doesn't know of anyone who tried to take a name already taken. But he's done it, so… 

Amy is back. The Doctor— _Theta—_ wasn't. 

But the universe needs the Doctor. And so did Koschei. 

Rory's chronocartography said they would find Amy and Koschei would die. River knows this face as the Doctor's, and so did Jack, in that call after Christmas 2009. And Amy somehow overwrote this duplicate's mind with her own. 

The Doctor— _Theta—_ should be able to do the same when the current Doctor finally fixes the cracks, thus sending the Doctor-Master's mind out of the brains in the same manner Koschei did with ghost Theta… or, if he's wrong about that, the Doctor-Master knows how to survive without a body or with a subpar one. The Doctor— _Theta—_ can help fix that when he has a body of his own, the Doctor-Master's body. 

… That wasn't confusing or anything… 

Right, the Doctor and Theta, that will do for now, until they become the Doctor and Koschei. Which means the Doctor needs to stop the Pandorica and fix the cracks for that to happen. 

No biggie. 

… Probably. 

No, no doubt, no room for doubt now. Now it's time for an impossible victory, and the Doctor is the man for the job. 

So, he gets back to work, giving up on the time stop after it broke while he was up delivering his speech, and focusing on what little he has left. 

The legionnaires come down after a bit, to check on the Cyberweapons and arm themselves appropriately now that they have the time, but he ignores them, focused on the job. 

The communicator beeps with five minutes and thirty-eight seconds to spare, but he loses no time as he rounds to another of the faces of the Pandorica, trying to reassert the deadlocks even as he pulls it up to his ear. 

“River, the TARDIS, where is it?” he asks seriously, sonicking the box— 

::Don't raise your voice, don't look alarmed, just listen,:: River whispers in a too calm yet urgent voice, and the M— _Doctor_ almost disobeys, going back a second to clamp down on his instinct to tense up, holding instead the scan for a second longer as he takes a breath in through the nose. ::They're not real. They can't be. They're all right here in the story book. Those actual Romans. The ones I sent you, the ones you're with right now. They're all in a book about the Classic Roman Empire in Rory's house. A children's picture book. It's on a shelf with some car magazines and collectibles, and some very old sci-fi comics with horrible sense of fashion and furniture. Sounds familiar?:: 

Yes, it _does_ sound familiar, but the Doctor had thought it was just the latest trend of New Roman fashion, he studied their _war tactics,_ not their sense of style or lack thereof! 

But onto more important things. 

“What are you even doing there?” he hisses at her, glaring at the screwdriver without seeing what it's telling him, too focused on River's words and what they _mean._

::It doesn't matter, the TARDIS went wrong,:: she answers dismissively, and the Doctor's about to protest that his ship does _not_ go wrong, when she continues. ::Doctor, how is this possible?:: 

“Something's using his memories, Rory's memories,” he theorizes as he sidles closer to the Pandorica and out of sight of the possibly-not-Romans in the sentry box, sparing them a quick glance. “Or something similar, _I don't know,”_ he hisses, before something else catches his attention. “Wait, you called me Doctor.” 

::You had the communicator set to 'transmit', Sweetie, and the Jaguar has a radio. And before I forget, _I told you so,::_ she purrs, grin audible, and the Doctor snorts. ::As for Rory's memories, something was here. There are burn marks on the grass outside and the door was broken down.:: 

“Landing patterns?” 

::They sure look like it.:: 

“If they've been to his house, they could have used his psychic residue,” he answers, because _that_ is something he knows about. “Structures can hold memories—” _and so can rings,_ a treacherous part of his brains whispers, immediately discarded. “That's why houses have ghosts. They could've taken a snapshot of Rory's memories. But why?” 

::Doctor, who are those Romans?:: River asks, yet another good point, and probably one more easily answered than his own question. 

“Projections… or duplicates,” he answers as he spares the legionnaires another look, pondering on the thought that Fate wouldn't be this cruel, would it? 

::But they were helping us. My lipstick even worked.:: 

… Fate would _definitely_ be this cruel. 

“They might think they're real. They believe their own cover story, right until they're activated. They're loyal New Roman soldiers, protecting their people, loving, hating, discussing the latest soap opera or grimacing when they hear a bad joke. And then, it's all taken away from them with a noise in their heads,” he whispers, _hoping_ he's wrong, because he doesn't want to believe… 

::Doctor, that Centurion… There's a picture in the _Pandora's Box_ book, of Rory and a girl at some kind of costume party. They're both dressed as Romans, and the girl—:: 

“Is Amy,” he cuts with a pained grimace, shutting his eyes tightly as if that could make it all _go away,_ but the clicking of the Pandorica opening at his back only becomes stronger. 

::She is. It's a trap. It has to be. They used Rory to construct a scenario you'd believe, to get close to you.:: 

“ _Why?”_ he hisses, pacing a bit without leaving the protective shadow of the Pandorica, still hidden from the Roman legionnaires. “Who'd do that? What for? It doesn't make sense,” he adds, glaring at the _accursed_ box that got them in this mess to begin with. 

Did they want the Doctor here to stop the Pandorica opening? Is that it? But why put the Romans and Amy here? To help? Or to _hurt?_

River lets out a shout at the other end and the Doctor tenses. 

“River? _River?”_ he calls, not caring if he raises his voice more than he should. “River, what's happening?” 

::I don't know! It's the engines. Doctor, there's something wrong with the TARDIS, like something else is controlling it,:: she answers, and the Doctor's shoulders slump with a huff, worry turning to annoyance. 

“You're flying her wrong. Or you annoyed her, apologize and try again.” 

::I'm flying it perfectly! I learnt from the best,:: she protests, and the Doctor puffs his chest out with a grin. 

“Even I can make mistakes, you know.” 

::Which is why I learnt when you were busy.:: 

“Oi!” 

::Doctor, TARDIS, _help!::_

“Alright, sheesh,” he huffs, but focuses obediently. “Give me facts. Where are you? What's the date reading? If you've been to Rory's house, that means Earth, so nothing in the atmosphere should be giving you trouble, which means—” 

::It's the 26th of June, 2010.:: 

And the Doctor feels himself go pale. 

“You need to get out of there, _now._ Any other time zone, the Time Vortex, _anywhen else,”_ he orders firmly, pacing once more. “Just _go!”_

::I can't break free!:: River protests, sounding _worried,_ and the Doctor hisses a couple of curses under his breath as he squeezes the computer against his shoulder and reaches for the Vortex manipulator to wrap around his wrist. 

“Well, then shut down the TARDIS. Shut down everything!” 

::I _can't!_ Someone else is flying it. An external force. I've lost control.:: 

“Don't you _dare_ give up, River! You're better than this, so _do_ it! I'll be with you as soon as I can, but you need to land the TARDIS!” he shouts – and flinches a moment later when a high-pitched noise fills the Underhenge, turning his fury-fueled burning glare to the _Rassilon-damned Pandorica_ before he covers his ear with his hand and takes away as much audial sensitivity from it as he dares. “Listen to me, just land her anywhere. Emergency landing, now,” he orders a bit calmer, and after a picosecond of hesitation, he decides the truth will be the extra incentive River will need to try just that bit harder – even if it means she has to damage the TARDIS to do so, because the Doctor knows that both he and the old girl would prefer that to _the alternative._ “There are cracks in time. I've seen them everywhere, and they're getting wider. The TARDIS exploding is what causes them, but we can stop the cracks ever happening if you just land her.” 

::It's not safe,:: River protests, and the Doctor forces the next words past the knot trying to block his throat. 

“I'll take those odds if that means you have a chance to survive, River. Both of you.” 

And that's the moment the creature of the hour decides to make an appearance. 

Or, rather, that's the moment the Pandorica decides to open, slowly, with the rumbling of rock against rock and the ticking of impossible gears, shedding a blinding white light all over the room that even the Doctor's Time Lord eyes can't penetrate. 

“Oh, of course. Ready to come out, are we?” he snarls at the Pandorica's _excellent_ timing, pulling the computer down and reaching for his screwdriver. 

::Doctor?:: River calls, voice barely heard due to the Pandorica's noise and his having taken away the computer, but the Doctor immediately replaces it on his ear as soon as he hears his name. ::I'm down, I've landed,:: she tells him breathlessly, and he spares a thought to _please be alright, both of you_ before he opens his mouth. 

“Good. Now just walk out of the doors. If there's no one inside, the TARDIS' engines shut down automatically. Simple, just get out of there,” he tells her calmly, taking a couple deep breaths himself to prepare for whatever comes out of the Pandorica. 

::I'm going,:: River answers _too calmly,_ and the Doctor _won't lose anyone again—_

“ _Run!”_ he hollers, lifting his screwdriver to scan the bloody box, and River's breath hitches before it quickens as she does as told. 

Good, out of danger. River and the TARDIS are safe, and he can get to them with the Vortex manipulator— _ugh, time travel without a capsule—_ as soon as he's dealt with the Pandorica's Imp and— 

::Doctor! Doctor, I can't open the doors!:: River shouts, her frustration audible even without the communicator up to his ear and the rhythmic and grinding steps approaching from behind— 

Wait, that's not— 

The Doctor turns – and freezes. 

The legionnaires, blank-faced and dead-eyed, right hands up to point at him with fingers that have unhinged to reveal the guns hidden in the palms of their hands. 

Autons. All the legionnaires are autons, all those volunteers that River convinced to come to the Pandorica— 

Oh, no. No, no, _no!_

“ _Rory!”_ he shouts, hoping against hope that he'll have been clever—or stupid, depends who asks—and he'll burst into the room any moment now to tell him the legionnaires have gone crazy and is the Doctor in trouble, oh, never mind, he can see that himself— 

But he doesn't come, neither Rory nor, a small part of his hearts hoped, Amy. 

The Doctor snarls at the Autons – and runs. 

But there's too many. He avoids the first two that try to lunge at him, and he's almost out of his coat when it is grabbed when two others tackle him and wrestle him into an impossible angle for him to use his superior strength to get free. 

“Get off of me, you plastic Romans! Duplicates, driven by the Nestene Consciousness, nothing but _drones!_ Let me _go!_ If you've done anything to Rory, I'll _melt you all!”_ he roars as he struggles against them, but even when he's hefted to his feet, he doesn't manage to get enough leverage to break their hold on his arms. 

River is still shouting through the communicator, hastily shoved into his pocket as it has been, but he can't hear her over the ruckus. His only consolation is that she's not shouting in pain. 

“What are you all here for? What's this deep cover? Are you sentries too, like the Cyberman? But _why?_ Oh, you know what's in there, don't you? You know what it is and you want a piece of it. Well, _talk!_ What can I do now but listen to you gloat and bemoan my luck? I deserve to know what's going to happen after my death, it's my last wish!” he demands, cutting down on his resistance to see if that will give him an opening. 

“The Pandorica is ready,” one of the plastic Romans drones on, and the Doctor perks up. 

“Ready? Do you mean it's open?” he asks, because they've marched him almost to the stairs now, so he has his back to the Pandorica and can't see. 

It's still noisy, but who knows. At least they're talking now. 

“You have been scanned, assessed, understood, Doctor,” a terrifyingly familiar voice answers instead of the autons, and the Doctor twists slowly, just enough to see the speaker and confirm that yes, it _is_ the allegedly Supreme Paradigm Dalek, the white one – and Red and Yellow beam in behind it. 

Three Paradigm Daleks and a small squad of autons, and he's _already_ caught. 

_What a good Doctor I make…_

No, _focus._ He's the Doctor, he has to _be_ the Doctor and make them talk. He needs information, and Daleks have always considered themselves too superior to care about keeping plans hidden from their opponents, though they are known to be vague bastards on occasion. 

Time to test White. 

“Scanned? Scanned by what, a _box?”_ he mocks as soon as he's manhandled into turning around to face the Daleks, which he allows with minimum resistance for the sake of appearances – and because he doesn't want to get shot _before_ he has the answers he needs to act, thank you, he learned _that_ lesson already. 

“Your limits and capacities have been extrapolated,” White says instead of what he wanted to hear, but _that_ is even more terrifying than he thought it would be. 

Limits? Capacities? _Extrapolated?_ Are they planning to _clone_ him or what?! 

Of course, having a small group of Cybermen, Judoon and Sontarans each beam down after that is even _worse,_ as the Doctor practically watches his chances of escape— _and victory—_ plummet down with each new arrival. 

Not only are they here, but as the Sontarans confirm with their words, they're _working together._

“The Pandorica is ready!” 

No, _no!_ This isn't what he planned! They were supposed to step away and consider the threat, some were supposed to retreat, others were supposed to try regardless of the Doctor's presence and that would push the others into jumping in to stop anyone else getting the Pandorica. They would fight among themselves, and the Doctor would use the situation to create chaos and pit them against each other, using the Cyberweapons or cunning while the Romans had their own defense formation to deal with the worst of the group— 

_They weren't supposed to work together!_

“Ready for what?” he asks White, hoping that addressing the Dalek will make the Sontaran commander, the Judoon captain and the Cyberleader bristle at his dismissing their authority – especially the Sontaran, seeing how he was the one to make that statement. 

Today is not his day. They stay unfazed. 

“Ready for you,” White answers, and the Doctor's hearts stop for a microsecond. 

The Pandorica goes quiet, finally fully open, and the light dims to reveal its interior – and the empty chair with the restraints unlocking, ready for its prisoner. 

_“There was a goblin, or a… trickster. Or a warrior. A nameless, terrible thing, soaked in the blood of a billion galaxies. The most feared being in all the cosmos. And nothing could stop it, or hold it, or reason with it. One day it would just drop out of the sky and tear down your world.”_

That… that does _terrifyingly_ fit the Doctor, especially when seen from the point of view of, oh, _everything that ever hated him._

_“What could need all that?”_

_“What could get past all that?”_

_“Think of the fear that went into making this box. What could inspire that level of fear?”_

_“I don't care. I don't_ care _who you are, or what you are. I've seen worse. I've seen far worse than whatever goblin, trickster,_ warrior _you are. I don't care how much blood stains your hands,_ mine are bloodier. _And you are not the most feared being in all the cosmos – you have been_ forgotten. _There's something scarier, something_ worse _than whatever you may be._ I have seen it. _… And so have they.”_

Oh, Koschei – _the Doctor_ is _an idiot._

But well… they weren't exactly wrong. 

Without another second to waste, the Doctor reaches for his core – and lets the anger for Amy's sake and the worry for Rory and River loose in the shape of deadly bioelectricity. 

The two autons holding him spasm violently and are thrown away like ragdolls when he rips his arms free, making sure to aim one at the Daleks so he's shielded from their blasts as he twists out of the way of the Sontaran energy shots, towards the Judoon to use their bulk and some Venusian Aikido to send them flying into the Cybermen just before he rolls low to avoid their attempts at recapturing him, moving and shifting to account for each new species beaming down and trying to stop him, using confusion and their own weight and even their weapons as he makes his way through to get to the stairs, reaching for the closest auton's laser gladius to cut through the fake Romans and make a run for Rory— 

And one of the bloody Daleks shots down a Judoon to have a clear shot and it's over. The autons descend on him again when he collapses, his body rebelling against the energy burning through him despite how he quickly tries to redirect it through all his dimensions. He tries to shock them once more— _poorly,_ he just got _shot by a Dalek,_ weak as the blast was, and _why_ didn't they just exterminate him there and then?—but they are immediately replaced by Cybermen, whose grip only tightens to the point he fears his bones will snap when he makes the mistake to try and electrocute them too. 

Ugh, they upgraded to sustain more charge… and the Doctor can't muster enough energy to actually damage them, hurt from the shot and weakened after a renaming, without taking into account he's using _his own life energy_ to fuel the bioelectricity. 

So, he struggles, kicks and wrenches his arms almost out of their sockets, and even bites a finger off of one of the Cybermen when it attempts to hold his head still on the Pandorica's seat as the restraints snap closed on his shoulders and arms and torso. 

But in the end, it makes no difference. Yes, the bastards are more bruised and damaged than they would've otherwise been, and the new arrivals beaming in are welcomed by spilled fluids and pained moans and the bodies of a couple autons and one Judoon, but the Doctor still ends up all gift-wrapped inside the Pandorica. 

He snarls, and a part of him is almost _too_ satisfied when some of his captors shift uncomfortably or outright flinch. 

Of course, that might be because of the mix of red blood and oil from the Cyberman he bit, but he'll take it. 

And now that he has his breath back, time to try one more time. After all, River and Rory and the TARDIS are still— _hopefully—_ alive and free, so who knows. 

“So, you're working together now. An alliance. How is that possible?” he asks, glaring at White because he _knows_ what it takes for Daleks to ally themselves with anything else, and how they plan to exterminate their 'allies' afterwards anyway. 

He could still have them fight each other, if White is confident enough that three Paradigm Daleks can exterminate everything else in here and spills the beans. Which, to be honest, they probably _are_ enough to come out on top, but still. Distraction. 

“The cracks in the skin of the universe,” White says as answer, and the Doctor frowns. 

“All reality is threatened,” the Sontaran commander supplies, blood dripping from a cut on his brow ridge, and a sneer on his face. 

“All universes will be deleted,” the Cyberleader adds, and the Doctor's eyebrows climb to his hairline. 

Are they saying what he thinks they're saying? 

“If this is your way of asking for my help, you lot need some remedial lessons. Actually, make that _a lot_ of lessons. Haven't you heard of a phone?” 

“Cease your aimless babbling, Doctor. We will save the universe _from you!”_ the Sontaran snarls, pride and smugness in his beady dark eyes. 

The Doctor sees _red._

“Oh, you bunch of inconsiderate _ingrates! I_ saved the universe when the Last Great Time War threatened to _destroy it all!”_ he roars, struggling against the restraints again and making _a lot_ of people jerk back or aim their weapons at him. “And _this_ is how you repay me?! I can _fix_ the cracks if you would get your heads out of your _exhaust pipes!_ Who else has the knowledge to fix temporal anomalies?! The Cybermen? The Daleks? _You,_ Sontarans? Don't make me laugh!” he shouts, letting out a bark of laughter nonetheless that makes them shuffle or shiver. “I haven't even _tried_ to destroy the universe! Why _would I?_ I'm one of the idiots living in it, you _imbeciles!_ Why in Rassilon's blasted name would you think I'd do it _now?!”_

“All projections correlate. All evidence concurs. The Doctor will destroy the universe,” the Cyberleader explains, emotionless due to its nature yet not lowering the gun pointing at the Doctor's head. 

“Says _who?!_ Show me that evidence and I'll tell you _I_ am the only one who can _save the universe! **Again!”**_

“The Pandorica was constructed to ensure the safety of the Alliance,” it adds nonetheless, ignoring him, and this time, the Doctor only snarls at the Cybermen, too out of breath as the Pandorica's defenses slowly reactivate. 

“A scenario was devised from the memories of your companion,” White explains, and the Doctor's white-hot anger finds a new focus at _those_ words. 

“A trap the Doctor could not resist,” the Sontaran adds, still smug, and _that_ does it. 

“I swear, if you've done anything to _any_ of them, there won't be enough universe for you to hide,” he promises quietly, and he's pretty sure someone whimpers further back. 

Of course, he may be flaring just the _tiniest_ bit, not fully yet because he still needs answers – and because he may be a bit too hurt and depleted to unfold properly, especially with the Pandorica's security starting to cut him off from the outside. 

That doesn’t make it any less satisfying when he sees his ‘captive audience’ hesitate, some of them looking about ready to flee, while Red and Yellow exchange a look behind White’s back. 

“The cracks in time are the work of the Doctor. It is confirmed,” White continues, and _oh, that's_ what they mean! 

“No. No, not _me,_ the TARDIS. And I'm not _in_ the TARDIS,” he hisses, his injuries and the Pandorica catching up to him to leave him tired and short of breath. 

No, this can't end here, _come on!_

“Only the Doctor can pilot the TARDIS,” White proclaims, and if a Dalek could be smug, White would be it. 

But it's wrong. They think they're saving the universe because the Doctor is in the Pandorica and not in the TARDIS, but they don't know about River, or whatever reason the TARDIS wasn't behaving properly as soon as she landed in the 26th of June of 2010. 

They think they're saving the universe when they're actually _condemning it._

Ugh, he should've taken the Vortex manipulator and jumped away the moment he realized the Romans were autons! 

… But that would've meant leaving Rory. 

No, he needs to find a solution _now,_ not in the past, so _think!_

“Alright, my turn, _listen_ to me! I can stop that from happening! I can fix the cracks!” 

“You will be prevented,” White proclaims, and the Doctor feels what little hope he held burn out. 

Who would be stupid enough to go against the Daleks? 

“Total event collapse! Every star will supernova at every moment in history. The whole universe will never have existed. Listen to me!” he explains, looking at all the others just standing there and _staring,_ but none of them react. 

They think they're doing the right thing, they're _sure_ of it, and not even the threat of complete obliteration, of _everything never existing in the first place_ is enough to scare them into _paying attention to his words._

“Seal the Pandorica,” the Cyberleader orders, and when the Doctor writhes against his restraints this time, no one even flinches. 

No, this can't be it, he's the Doctor, the Doctor's _face,_ he has to fix everything to bring Amy and the _real_ Doctor back, he has to seal the cracks and rescue River and get Rory back his memories and take care of the TARDIS and he's _stuck in a box and no one is listening—_

“ _No!_ Listen to me, _listen!_ The TARDIS is exploding right now and I'm the only one who can stop it! _Listen to me, **listen to me!”**_

The Pandorica closes.

**Author's Note:**

>  **First of all:** Thanks to everyone for your opinions on chapter structure. I'm still open to suggestions, but if things stay like this, I'll keep up with the one-fic-per-episode. It's actually more comfortable for me, since I tend to write it in big chunks that then I _rewrite_ as the story evolves or goes down a different path. If I split it, I would have to either stick to what is already posted or modify previous chapters, so...
> 
>  **Note to self (and everyone who cares about these things):** Do _not_ write when listening to the theme _Madame de Pompadour_ unless you want to write emotional scenes. I did _not_ remember how emotional this song was until I heard it again. If you find something that feels _too_ emotional, that's when the song played (Of course, once I realized that, I put it on loop, because I'm a masochist like that, but that's me).
> 
>  **Fun facts:** The chronocartographer room is the Thirteenth Doctor's control room, because I love the design (though I find it a bit weird for a control room, in a good sense? It's really _alien_ *w*).  
> I got the numbers written on the TARDIS door in Van Gogh's painting from the Internet, but since I had no idea what the first line of text meant, I theorized it was the name of the Roman camp and changed it to _Currum Ostendre._ According to Google Translate, it means _Chariot Fair._ If anyone knows better, please help.  
> Also, the first 'X' in the year, _XMMX,_ is supposed to have a line over it that would turn it into 12010 in Roman numerals, but I can't for the life of me have the doc keep it on, or figure out how to put it in here, so sorry about the botchered numbers. Story-wise, Semmelweis _hears_ the numbers spoken, so we can blame it on that instead.  
> And _yes,_ I did have Amy wear a white cape with hood in reference to Karen Gillian appearing in _The Fires of Pompeii_ as a soothsayer. In the draft, she's also wearing the makeup and she's part of a group of all-female 'priestess-warriors' instead of her as a Centurion in charge of legionnaires, to separate her even further from Rory the Roman. But when I wrote the episode, it just didn't fit, so I took it out. As thus, all hail Amy the (Jedi) Centurion!  
> Why a red laser gladius _(lightsaber)?_ Because Amy wears a lot of red in her tenure as a companion, so I think she quite likes the color/it's her favorite color. Also, remember Little Amelia's lucky red boots? So, yeah. Totally not a truly-a-bad-guy _(Sith)_ reference, nope, not from me.  
> If you think Koschei's entrance as the Doctor was very 'Iron Man', that has nothing to do with me either. You know how _bombastic_ the guy is, he practically _demanded_ the 'theme song'. And no, not a reference there either, what reference could there be?
> 
>  **Glossary:**  
>  **Plumbata:** Lead-weighted darts carried by infantrymen.  
>  **Hasta:** Plural hastae. Spear carried by early Roman legionnaires.  
>  **Onager:** The most powerful Roman artillery machine, commonly depicted as a catapult with a bowl, bucket, or sling at the end of its throwing arm. It was named after the wild-ass because of the _kick_ they both delivered. Yes, apparently, Classic Romans were punsters *insert shrug*
> 
>  **About the episode:**  
>  _Don't throw the rotten fruit yet!_ You've read Koschei's POV after the 'speech' thing: _he's not planning on keeping the name._ His idea is to reverse their 'current' roles, to give the Doctor his body when he gets him back and for Koschei to be the 'ghost' or get himself a new body. So, same plan he came up with all the way back in _The Snakes of Sicily._ You all saw how the Neverwere reacted to a 'nameless' Time Lord, so Koschei couldn't risk his being nameless again if the creature in the Pandorica turned out to be multidimensional in nature too... so he killed two birds with one stone.
> 
> And about that last scene, the Doctor _didn't kill anyone._ The only bodies were those who the Daleks shot. So, yeah, the Master's losing his touch.
> 
>  **Next time:** People come back from the dead _(again),_ a prophecy comes true _(again),_ the universe is saved _(again),_ people die _(again),_ and there's a wedding _(again)._


End file.
